





/ 6 -'. 

A 







^ibvjtty of €io«0i‘oiS5i. 



^^PiX^i^ity/i/^ .=/V%-. 



"IINriED STATES OF AMERICA.^ 



\ 


I 




♦ 





/ 



• ^ 









1 




f 


i 







f 


I 


N 


/ 


/ 


* \Y 




I 


>4 I 




Y 


) » •' 





f 



■v'- 


*» 


\ 


ik 


% 





S 







1 




% 




•) 


I 


I 





• > 

• i 




i' ; ■ 


I 





-I - ■ 


I / 


p 


'/' I 












V 


%• 


I 


F 

f 



i. 




L 


* 


H 






t 




He seated himself upon the trunk, and his father sat 
down for a few mon)ents by his side. — p. 46. 



^nit imb Jfalst 


I 


If- 





V/ 

♦ 

■f 

p 

TEUE AND FALSE. 





VTEITTEN FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, AND REVISED BY THE 
COMMITTEE OP PUBLICATION. 



AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

No. 316 CHESTNUT STREET. 

NEW YORK: No. 147 NASSAU ST BOSTON; No. 9 CORNHILL. 

LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST. 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854 , hy the 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
in the Clerlds Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 

Peimsylvania. 


JS!;S=‘ No books are published by the American Sundat-School Union 
without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of four- 
teen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Bap- 
tist, Methodist, Congregational, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and 
Reformed Didch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same 
denomination, and no book can be published to ivliich any member of the 
Committee shall object. 


NOTE. 


In our country, the blessings of civil and 
religious freedom are enjoyed in a measure not 
before known in any country of the world. 

The only restraint on the perfect liberty of 
every citizen is that which is imposed by whole- 
some laws — laws which are absolutely necessary 
to secure the highest happiness of the largest 
number. Due subordination to these law's is 
consistent with the truest independence. 

If our institutions have their fair influence 
in moulding the habits and ruling the conduct 
of men, diligence in one’s calling will be re- 
warded with competency and respectability. 

•9 


10 


NOTE. 


In our country, no honest, frugal, temperate 
man, in ordinary health, needs to be depend- 
ent on others for his daily food. 

The following pages are designed to illus- 
trate the great principle, that (under the provi- 
dential government of God) men make or mar 
their own fortunes. Adverse circumstances, 
courageously met, may be turned to good ac- 
count; and a right use of dependence will be 
found the surest means of securing true inde- 
pendence. 


fKbtgtnknte : Slrwc awir Jfalst 


CHAPTER I. 

Independence ! Where is the American 
boy whose eye does not brighten, and whose 
cheek does not glow at the sound, or whose 
bosom has not swelled as the merry peal of the 
bells, the floating banners, the lively music and 
the booming cannon, proclaim aloud on each 
returning anniversary the story of his country’s 
declaration of its inalienable right to be free ? 
Yes : independence is the proud heritage of 
every one who claims an American parentage. 

Yet there are many boys, and some men, too, 
who have altogether mistaken notions as to what 
constitutes true independence. To aid in dis- 
criminating between the true and the false will 
be the object of this simple tale. 

But a few years ago, the tall grass waved 

11 


12 


independence: 


over broad prairies of the West, and the wild 
deer bounded through forests where now culti- 
vated fields and comfortable farm houses, great 
barns filled with the plentiful fruits of the soil, 
and towns and villages with busy crowds, tell 
of the industry and enterprise of its inhabitants. 

These luxuriant prairies and wide untrodden 
forests of the West, tempted many of the well- 
settled people of eastern cities and towns to 
leave their snug and comfortable homes, and 
try their fortunes where ample sources of 
wealth seemed scattered so profusely. 

Living in a quiet street in one of the smaller, 
though by no means the least pleasant of these 
cities, was a family of the name of Summer- 
ville. They had lived many years there, and 
all the attachments that bind the heart to 
home were in full force. But Mr. Summerville, 
though he had always procured a comfortable 
support for his family, possessed nothing beyond 
his daily earnings. As his children grew up 
around him, he thought anxiously every day of 
their future welfare, and the care that pressed 
most heavily upon him was their education. 
He was a man who appreciated the advantages 
of good learning, and he often said that though 
he could never leave his children a cent’s worth 


TKUE AND FALSE. 


13 


of property, yet if he might see them well 
educated he should be content. By being well 
educated, he did not mean that they should 
have the advantages of schools, and become 
proficients in the knowledge of books, but 
that in addition to this they should understand 
how to take care of themselves ; and, above 
all, that their minds should be well fortified 
with correct principles, and their hearts filled 
with that fear of the Lord which is the begin- 
ning of wisdom. 

Richard, the oldest, was but thirteen ; and 
his father could not bear the thought that, at 
most, in three or four years, he must be re- 
moved from under his watchful care, and per- 
haps be surrounded with influences such as he 
would most earnestly deprecate, in order to 
prepare himself to earn his own livelihood. Mr. 
Summerville had seen a good deal of the world, 
(at least the working portion of it,) and it had 
been his lot to witness and deplore the situation 
of apprentices. He had often seen a fine and 
promising youth placed by his parents under 
the care of persons, who (as they firmly be- 
lieved) would exercise the best influence over 
him, but from neglect, or a want of that care 
which only parental affection can bestow, led to 


14 


INDEPEN DENCE: 


-wander a-way from the paths of truth ; and he 
knew that this might be the case with his own 
Richard, as he might be obliged to put him in 
just such a situation. Two little girls, younger 
than Richard, were dependent upon him, and 
poverty is a hard master. 

So Mr. Summerville resolved to go “out 
West,” in search of that competency which a 
crowded city gave him but little hope of ob- 
taining. The excitement of something new is 
always enough to make the eyes of children 
sparkle, and their cheeks glow with pleasure. 
For Richard and his two sisters, there were no 
sorrowful leave-takings, but buzzing about like 
bees in the midst of the confusion of breaking up 
and selling and packing they seemed like bees 
also, to sip sweets from every thing they touched. 
Their bright faces and cheerful tones helped 
not a little to keep up the spirits of their 
parents, as, with many sorrows for what they 
were leaving and many anxious forebodings as 
to what they were to find, they made prepara- 
tions for their departure. 

It was before the days of railroads, and the 
family thought themselves surrounded with 
every possible comfort for travellers, when, with 
boxes and trunks all closely packed and nailed 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


15 


or locked, tliey found themselves on board a 
canal boat, bound for a week’s voyage on the 
Erie Canal. A canal boat, though it has fallen 
into some disrepute since people ^ have learned 
to fly, is, after all, a famous place for forming ac- 
quaintances ; and, therefore, during this tedious 
week, we must become as familiar as possible 
with the Summerville family, and especially 
with Richard, as he is to be the principal sub- 
ject of our narrative ; and also, as by becom- 
ing acquainted with him, we shall learn much of 
his parents, — for he had been the subject of 
the most careful parental training. 

Richard was not a tall, finely formed lad, 
with a noble countenance and a flashing eye, 
as story-tellers are wont to describe all good 
boys, but he was just such a looking boy as may 
be seen any day. Rather small of his age, and 
with a down-cast expression of modesty in his 
face, he might easily escape notice ; yet there was 
in his face and in his bearing that beauty and 
nobility which goodness and energy of character 
may give to the plainest features. There was 
a gleam of intelligence in his eye, a smile upon 
his lip, and an activity in his manner when 
there was any thing to be done, which showed 
him to be a good, and we may say, a noble boy. 

% 


16 


independence: 


He was naturally very passionate, but his 
parents had taught him the necessity of re- 
straining his temper, and had also directed him 
to the only true source of strength for the ac- 
complishment of this task. He had struggled 
hard with his passions, and if he was now gentle, 
and amiable and kind, it was not because na- 
ture had made him so, but because he had 
received grace to become so. 

His two sisters, Margaret and Anna, or 
Maggie and Nannie, as they were generally 
called, were the special objects of his afiection. 
Three children could hardly be found who loved 
one another more tenderly than they. 

The family had gone to the boat at night, 
after a weary day of toil, and had retired very 
soon to their berths. Little Nannie hardly 
knew whether to laugh or cry when her mother 
lifted her up to the ‘‘top shelf,” as she called 
it. It seemed to her a very curious place to 
sleep, and how many times she raised her head 
and peeped over to see Maggie below, and her 
mother still below Maggie, it would be difficult 
to tell. The tramping of men, and the banging 
about of boxes and barrels, ropes and poles 
over her head, made her start often at first, 
but soon all noises were alike to her ear, and 

# 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


17 


Nannie slept as soundly as if in her own 
bed. 

Mrs. Summerville could not sleep. Her mind 
was filled with regrets for the many friends she 
was leaving, and with anxiety for the future ; 
and not a few tears fell upon her pillow before 
she found the sweet refreshment of sleep. 
After awhile she sunk into a slumber, from 
which she was very often awakened through the 
night by the disturbances about the boat, which 
had started an hour or two after they came on 
board. 

In another apartment, separated by a curtain 
from the one in which his mother and sisters 
slept, was Richard. He was a little too old to be 
much disturbed by the strangeness of the scene 
about him, and one might suppose he was too 
young to be troubled with anxious thoughts ; 
but it was not so. He had eagerly listened to 
every word his father had spoken in his pre- 
sence about the place to which they were 
going, and his mind was full to overflowing of 
his own plans. He had never been on a farm, 
and therefore it need not be a matter of wonder 
if his thoughts about reaping, and sowing and 
plowing, came in reversed order as often as 

otherwise. But plans he had, and many of 

2 ^ 


18 


independence: 


them, too ; and half the night he lay awake, 
revolving them over and over, discarding one 
and taking up another, till at length, upon the 
strength of the one good resolution to do all he 
could to help his father, he fell asleep. 

Early in the morning the family met on the 
deck of the boat. They had travelled some 
miles in the course of the night, and found 
themselves in the midst of new scenery. Rich- 
ard drew" his sisters aw"ay to another part of 
the boat, to point out to them a snug farm- 
house, surrounded with trees and orchards. 

There, Maggie !” said he : “ it’s in such a 
kind of place we are going to live. See that 
great barn there ! Would’nt you like father to 
have such a barn, all full of wheat, and all his 
ow"n ? And you, Maggie, shall have just such 
a little colt as that for yours. And Nannie, do 
you see the lambs? You shall have one to 
dress up wdth flowers — you shall, Nannie ! I’ll 
get you one !” And Richard was quite excited 
by the pleasing picture. 

Maggie looked somewhat distrustful. 

“Don’t you believe it, Maggie?” said Rich- 
ard, eagerly. “You look very sober about 
it.” 

“I don’t know, Richard,” said she. “I 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


19 


can’t help looking sober when mother does. I 
looked over the edge of my bed this morning, 
and I do believe she had been crying. What 
makes her feel so bad, Richard? Don’t she 
want to go out West ?” 

Yes, she wants to go, I know, for I heard 
her say so to father. But I suppose she felt 
bad about leaving. We must try to make her 
happy. Look there, Maggie — there’s another 
farm on her side of the boat. Let’s go and talk 
to her about it.” So he bounded to his mother’s 
side, exclaiming : — “ Look, mother ! won’t it be 
pleasant to live in such a place ! Look at the 
trees all full of fruit, and see the milk-pans all 
out in the sun. They must have plenty of cows 
there.” 

Mrs. Summerville smiled at Richard’s eager- 
ness. “It will be many years, my son,” she 
replied, “ before we have things as comfortable 
as they have them there.” 

“Why,” he exclaimed with surprise, “are 
we not going to live on a farm ? And isn’t 
every thing in comfortable order ? Did’nt Mr. 
Murray tell you so, father?” 

“ Yes, Richard ; but you will find that com- 
fort at the West is a very different thing from 


20 


independence: 


comfort at the East. Haven’t I told you you 
would find every thing different ?” 

“Yes, sir,” he replied, hesitatingly, — “but 
yet” 

“ But what, my son ? If people can get a 
log cabin that will keep the rain off, and food 
enough to live on the first winter, they think 
they are quite comfortable. Hoes that frighten 
you ? Do you expect to find every thing made 
ready to your hand ?” 

“ No, father ; I’m not afraid for myself ; but 
I don’t like to think of mother’s living so.” 

“ Your mother understands the privations she 
will have to endure much better than you do, 
and it is for the sake of you and your sisters, 
that she is willing to endure them. But you 
and I will try to make them as light as possible. 
Won’t we, my son?” 

“Yes, that we will!” exclaimed Richard, 
drawing himself up. “ I only wish I was a man 
grown.” 

“ That is an idle wish, my son. You know I 
have always told you the only way to be inde- 
pendent of circumstances is to control them. 
If you do not control them you may be sure 
they will control you. You can’t make yourself 
a man at once, but you need’nt sit idle for all 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


21 


that. You can make the most of yourself while 
you are a boy.” 

I’ll try,” said Richard, walking thought- 
fully away. “ Independent of circumstances !” 
he exclaimed to Maggie, who soon joined him. 
‘‘Father has talked so much to me about that. 
You see, Maggie, it won’t do to give up if 
things don’t go to suit us. We must wait 
patiently till they come right. If we can’t do 
one thing we can do another, that’s all.” 

“ Yes, Richard : I was thinking this morning 
how much I could do to help mother, when we 
get out there. But what father has said, makes 
me think I don’t know any thing about what we 
shall have to do.” 

“ It makes me feel bad to see mother look 
so,” said Richard, thoughtfully. “But there’s 
something for me to do now,” he added, bright- 
ening up. “ I must’nt grow dull and feel badly 
because things look gloomy. That’s just what 
father means by controlling circumstances. I 
wonder I did’nt think of that before. Come, 
Maggie, there’s a chance to try what we can do 
to make things appear more cheerful.” 

So he took Maggie’s hand, and in a moment 
they were beside their mother, who had gone 
below to get some work. Richard saw her en- 


22 


independence: 


deavourino: to extricate her work-basket from 
beneath a pile of shawls and sundry other 
articles which had been heaped upon it. He 
sprung forward to assist her, and was rewarded 
by her own sweet smile. He then sat down 
beside her, and talked in a lively way till the 
cloud passed from his mother’s brow, and she 
looked happy. 

How many boys, instead of trying to be 
cheerful and to restore cheerfulness at such a 
time, would have sulkily yielded to a fit of ill- 
humour, and so increased the gloom ! 

‘‘Mother,” said he, at length, “how can we 
get along without family worship morning and 
evening ? I know we should all feel happier, 
and do better, if we could have it, as we did at 
home.” 

“ I am glad you miss it, my son,” said his 
mother. “ It seems strange to be without it, 
but we can seek strength from our heavenly 
Father, each one apart, if we cannot do it 
together. I hope you will not forget that !” 

“ No, mother, I hope not. Father has 
always told me that if I try to get along without 
help from God, I shall fail.” 

“ Yes, it is folly to try to be independent of 
Him in whom we live and move and have our 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


23 


being. You remember wliat the Saviour says, 
‘ Without me ye can do nothing.’ ” 

I thought of that this morning, mother. I 
found I was beginning to feel badly after what 
father had said about the way we shall have to 
live out West. But then I remembered what 
he has told me so often about all things being 
under the control of God.” 

Can you always feel glad that it is so, my 
son?” 

“ Why, no — not always, — at first. But then 
it is because I have a sinful heart that does not 
like to be controlled by God, and he says that 
I must ask for the Holy Spirit to subdue it.” 

‘‘Are you willing God should do with us as 
He sees best ?” 

“ I think so, — at least I will try to be willing.” 

This conversation, to which the little girls 
were listeners, was carried on in a low tone in 
a part of the cabin somewhat removed from the 
rest of the passengers. It may serve as a spe- 
cimen of the manner in which Mr. and Mrs. 
Summerville had always endeavoured to impress 
upon the minds of their children a sense of their 
dependence upon God’s providence in the most 
common circumstances of life, and upon His 
grace in the control of their own hearts. 


24 


independence: 


Nothing was so pleasant either to the parents 
or the children, as these “good talks” which 
they often had together, and the parents had 
the happiness of seeing the good effect of this 
kind of instruction, especially upon the mind 
of Richard, who was now old enough to 
understand its meaning, and feel its benefit. 
Any person unacquainted with the manner in 
which he had been trained, might have been 
surprised at the intelligence of his answers ; 
but children, with whom the truths of the Bible 
are made the subject of constant conversation, 
often have a simple and clear understanding of 
them, w'hich, to those wRo have begun later in life 
to study them, seems to be scarcely possible. 

It is needless to dwell minutely upon the 
journey of the Summerville family westward. 
The time passed slowly away, and the canal 
boat was exchanged for the lake steamboat, — 
not one of those floating palaces that now waft 
you over the beautiful waters of Lake Erie 
almost between sunrise and sunset. It was a 
small and dirty craft, which might be thirty-six 
hours in its tedious passage. But it was a plea- 
sant change from the canal boat after all, and 
the children were delighted and amazed at the 
wide, clear and beautiful expanse of water. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


25 


But when the lake was passed, they began to 
feel that they were getting into the western 
world in reality. They found themselves upon 
the shores of the shallow and sluggish Maumee 
River. The conveyances, among which travel- 
lers might choose to carry them farther west- 
w^ard, were of a strange and comfortless kind. 
The only one that afforded the least semblance 
of a shelter overhead, was a miserable boat 
used chiefly for carrying freight up and down 
the river. Here they met with two other 
families, who were also going west in search of 
a new home. These, with their own number, so 
crowded the boat, that their condition was com- 
fortless in the extreme. It was hard to keep 
up cheerfulness of spirits under such circum- 
stances, but generally they did succeed in doing 
so. After travelling a day or two,^ the boat 
was drawn up one night, as usual, to the side 
of the stream, and made fast while the passen- 
gers went on shore in search of a lodging place. 

Did you ever see a log cabin ? If you have 
lived in the West, you have seen many; but if, 
like the Summervilles, you have lived always in 
the more populous parts of the East, you may 
never have seen one. It was a strange sight 
to Richard and his two sisters. They had been 

3 


26 


•independence: 


much pleased with their novel mode of passing 
up the river, and with the new and strange 
scenery along its banks. Keared upon the 
shores of the beautiful Hudson, and accustomed 
from childhood to look down from the heights 
which almost throughout its whole extent rise 
so beautifully from its margin, it w'as a new 
thing to see a wide stream of water rolling 
along for miles and miles, with rocks almost 
everywhere jutting up from beneath its slug- 
gish waters, and to hear daily the grating of 
their boat upon the hard and rough bed of the 
stream, though it seemed almost to lie upon the 
surface of the water. 

And then, as the boat neared the shore, 
to snatch olF leaves and twigs from the trees 
that hung over the stream, and sometimes to 
look off into the thicket that grew along the 
river, and see the water standing in black and 
swampy pools among the thick stems of the 
shrubs, almost made them think the river had 
no banks. There was a pleasing novelty about 
all this. But then, after the boat was fastened, 
and the travellers had made their way up from 
the river bank to the road, and they saw before 
them the rough and crooked rail fence that sur- 
rounded the fields, and the unsightly building 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


2T 


with its rude chimney made of sticks and then 
plastered over with mud, they began to think 
that the novelty was not altogether pleasing. A 
rude gate admitted them into the garden, and 
along both sides of the path were lying the 
brown and shrivelled cucumber vines, and huge 
yellow cucumbers were scattered all about. 

They entered the house, where at one end 
of the room, an enormous fire-place stretched 
nearly across the house, and its black and gaping 
throat was the very picture of discomfort. Mr. 
and Mrs. Summerville were prepared for these 
things, and were not taken by surprise when 
told that they might sleep on the floor of the 
one room, which was at once kitchen, dining 
room, parlour, bedroom, pantry, cellar, and all. 

Maggie Avas a thoughtful child, — thoughtful 
beyond her years. She sat doAvn upon a rickety 
chair in a corner of the room, and gazed around 
her. She felt such a sense of discomfort and 
loneliness as she never felt before. The open 
door was near her, and stealing quietly out, she 
looked around in search of some cheerful and 
pleasant object. Right before her Avas the 
crooked path leading doAvn to the rough gate ; 
and on either side of the path Avere the dead, 
straggling Aunes, and beyond Avere cabbages and 


28 


independence: 


potatoes, and other garden vegetables ; while 
still farther on in the corners of the fence, tall, 
coarse grass, and rank weeds running up to seed, 
filled out the picture ; and Maggie buried her 
face in her apron and cried ! 

“ Why, Maggie dear, what is the matter ?” 
said Richard, springing from the door where he 
had been watching her, and throwing his arm 
around her. 

“Oh, Richard!” she sobbed, “will we have 
to live in such a house as this, and have such 
fences? Every thing is as ugly as it can be.” 

“ Is that all the trouble ?” said he, putting 
on his manliest look, “just leave all that to fa- 
ther and me.” 

“ But father said we should live in a log 
cabin,” said Maggie. 

“ Well, I suppose we will ; but we’ll soon fix 
it up better than this. Why, Maggie, would 
you have these old cucumbers lying about here 
if this was our place ?” he asked, — spurning one 
of them with his foot. 

“ No, indeed ! I’d soon have pretty flowers 
all along here, and I’d pull up these weeds and 
this old grass, and I’d have some vines about 
the house. Oh, Richard ! how nicely they 
would climb up the corners where the ends of 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


29 


the logs stick out so,” said she, laughing in 
spite of her tears. 

And do you think you’d do it all, and fa- 
ther and I could do nothing?” 

No, indeed — no, Richard. I know you 
would not let things look as they do here. Oh, 
but won’t we all work and fix them up nicely.” 

Don’t you know, Maggie, what father has 
told us so often ? I’ve got that lesson by heart. 
If I could only practise it as well as I can say 
it, I should do well enough. And let’s both 
remember it, Maggie. The only way to be in- 
dependent of circumstances, is to control them ; 
and if we don’t, they will surely control us.” 



3^ 


30 


independence: 


CHAPTER 11. 

We left our friends in a log cabin, — the first 
they had ever seen, — and we shall find them 
again in a log cabin, one with which they are 
likely to become pretty well acquainted. A 
week more of travelling had brought them to 
the village near which their place of residence 
lay — about seven miles distant. From the vil- 
lage, they had been brought by wagons, and 
left to take care of themselves. 

Mr. Summerville, as has been before re- 
marked, possessed nothing beyond his daily 
earnings, so that the farm to which he "was 
going was not his own. He had met with a 
man, before leaving his home in the East, who 
owned a farm in the West, for which he was 
anxious to secure a good tenant. This farm, 
he represented to Mr. Summerville as a very 
valuable piece of property, partly improved, 
and with comfortable buildings upon it. Mr. 
Summerville had considered himself peculiarly 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


81 


fortunate in meeting with so good a prospect 
of a favourable location for his family, and the 
hope which was held out to him; that in a few 
years he w'ould be enabled to make the pro- 
perty his own, had been one of the greatest 
inducements to him, to try his fortune in the 
West. 

Great indeed was his disappointment on reach- 
ing the place of his destination, to find a mise- 
rable, neglected farm, much of which was still 
covered with its native growth of timber ; its 
fences thrown down, and every appearance of 
disorder and neglect in every part. The house 
which had been represented to him as comfort- 
able, he found to be a miserable log cabin, less 
desirable for a shelter than many a barn he 
had seen. From end to end, and from floor 
to roof, it was one bare, forbidding room. The 
windows and doors were gone, and between the 
logs and through many a crevice in the roof, 
the light streamed without obstruction. 

Knowing that the place had been for some 
time uninhabited, they had bought sufficient 
provision for a short time, at the neighbouring 
town. They had not been long in their new 
abode before night came on ; and, after par- 
taking of their simple meal, which was spread 


32 


independence: 


on one of tlieir unopened boxes of furniture, 
they began to prepare for rest. Beds and bed- 
ding were unpacked, quilts and blankets were 
huno* before the door and the windows, and 
their beds were spread on the floor. 

The children had been longing for the time 
when they could again have their accustomed 
family worship ; and this evening, as the family 
were for the flrst time alone, they could once 
more kneel around their own altar, to pray for 
the protection and guidance of the Almighty. 
Seating themselves close together, they listened 
devoutly to the word of God, as read from 
a pocket Testament which Mr. Summerville 
always carried with him, and then they 
kneeled down and prayed together. They 
needed to pray, and they all felt it to be a 
privilege. 

They then sought rest. But it was long 
before the parents could compose themselves to 
sleep. They had come so far away from all 
the endearing associations of home to obtain 
comfort and the means of education for their 
children, and this was the result ! But Mr. 
Summerville was not the man to give up, even 
under such circumstances, and the cause of his 
wakefulness was not so much disappointment 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


33 


and solicitude, as the forming of plans for the 
improvement of their present condition. 

The little girls were soon asleep, hut poor 
Richard was not. His heart failed him entirely. 
He lay upon his pillow and tossed and rolled, 
but all to no purpose. All his expectations 
and plans were at once thrown into confusion ; 
and, between wondering what would become of 
them and indignation against Mr. Murray, he 
became so bewildered and unhappy that he 
cried. If it had been in the daytime, he 
would doubtless have been ashamed of doing 
so unmanly a thing ; but he actually did cry. 

In the morning, things looked still more 
dreary and desolate. But Richard sprang 
from his bed and soon had a bright fire burn- 
ing out of doors, where they had made one the 
evening before, and the tea-kettle swinging^ 
over it. He had often read about “camping 
out,” and his knowledge of the way in which 
people get along in those circumstances came 
into service now ; for their house was little 
better than a tent, and as for conveniences, it 
was as barren of them as it could well be. 

But Mr. Summervile tore open another 
box, and a white cloth was soon spread over 
their temporary table, and a few dishes were 


34 


independence: 


placed upon it; and, as the family gathered 
around it to eat their morning meal, and Mr. 
Summerville thanked God that his mercies 
■were still continued to them, Richard began to 
think that, after all, they had much more than 
they deserved. 

When they had united in seeking grace and 
direction for the day, Mr. Summerville set 
about making their habitation more comfortable. 
He had brought with him a good assortment 
of tools, and he had skill to use them. Not 
many hours had passed before he had con- 
structed a tolerable door out of some loose 
boards, and Richard, during that time, had 
prepared some mud, as he could see this was 
the w’ay in which things had been done before, 
and had plastered up the openings between 
the logs. Meanwhile, Mrs. Summerville and 
the little girls had been busy within. Mrs. 
Summerville had always lived in a city, and 
lived comfortably ; too, and, at first, it had 
seemed to her a hopeless task to make so cheer- 
less a place look home-like. But she made a 
beginning by washing the rough floor, and 
then she arranged about the room the most 
necessary of the articles of furniture they had 
brought with them, and hung some long white 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


35 


curtains ■vyliere the windows should have been ; 
so that by the time Mr. Summerville and 
Richard came in from their out-door work, it 
really began to look as if they might, after a 
while, be comfortable even there. The table 
was sj^read in the middle of the floor, and 
chairs placed around it ; and they seated them- 
selves at their meal, looking much more cheer- 
ful than they did in the morning. 

There is nothing that will so soon drive 
away melancholy as work, and they had all 
been proving the truth of this saying. Before 
night, the crevices in the roof had been covered 
with shingles, or something, at least, that an- 
swered the purpose of shingles, torn from an 
old shed ; and when the family assembled in the 
evening, they looked around with no small 
degree of satisfaction as they contrasted their 
condition with that of the evening before, and 
they were all in good spirits. 

The next morning, Mr. Summerville and 
Richard went to a little settlement about four 
miles from them, to get some articles of con- 
venience which they could not make for them- 
selves, and, among others, sashes for the win- 
dows. They had no horses yet, and therefore 
there was no way for them but to go on foot. 


36 


independence: 


This would be nothing to people that were ac- 
customed to it, but to Richard it was quite a 
formidable undertaking. He had thought when 
he went half a mile to school in the city where 
they had lived, that he had a very long walk, 
and now to think of travelling four miles and 
back the same day, seemed a great thing. But 
it afforded him and his father ample time for 
conversation, and they improved it well. 

Richard at first walked thoughtfully along, 
scarcely speaking, until at length his father 
asked : — “ What are you thinking of, Richard?’' 

“ Oh, about this queer way of living !” he 
replied. 

Why, what is there queer about it ?” asked 
Mr. Summerville. 

Every thing, I’m sure,” replied Richard. 
“ Every thing is as different as it can be from 
what we have been used to.” 

“ That is very true : but how do you like it ?” 

I can’t tell yet. I haven’t made up my 
mind.” 

“Well, it is not best to judge hastily — but 
how do you like it so far ?” 

“ I don’t care for myself, but I’ve been think- 
ing how mother and the girls can live so.” 

“ I’m glad you think first of them, my son,” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


37 


replied Mr. Summerville, “ and I suppose I 
may understand from your answer that you 
don’t like the appearance of things much yet.” 

“Well, I don’t,” said Richard, “to speak 
candidly.” 

“ I don’t, either,” replied Mr. Summerville. 

Richard looked up with an expression of sur- 
prise. “ Don’t you like it, father ?” he asked. 
“ Why, you seemed so cheerful, I thought you 
did.” 

“ It would not make matters any better to 
be gloomy and mopish, would it?” said Mr. 
Summerville, smiling. 

“ No ; but then how can it be helped? It is 
such a disappointment to find things so different 
from what we expected.” 

“ Yes, it is a very great disappointment, and 
on account of your mother and the children, I 
feel it very much ; and, without my Bible, and 
without prayer, I should be ready to sink into 
despondency. But suppose I should spend all 
day reading the Bible and praying, would that 
help us along with our difficulties ?” 

“ Oh, no ; there is work to be done, too,” 
said Richard. 

“Yes; and after I have sought strength 
from God by prayer, and by meditation on his 


38 


independence: 


word, I must then try to do all I can to im- 
prove our situation, must I not?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“Well, then, there is another thing that I fear 
you will overlook, and that is, that we should 
try to understand why God has disappointed 
our hopes, and placed us in a situation that 
appeared so undesirable ?” 

Richard looked somewhat startled by this last 
remark, and turning his eyes thoughtfully on 
the ground, he wmlked along some distance in 
silence. Perhaps it had not come into his mind 
before, that it was God who had done this, or if it 
had, he had been very much at a loss to under- 
stand the reason of his dealing thus with them. 

Mr. Summerville at length asked : — “ Is not 
that an important question for you to con- 
sider?” 

“ Yes, sir ; but I should not know how to 
answer it,” said Richard. 

“ I don’t know that I understand it, either,” 
said his father, “ and I’m sure I don’t fully — 
but I think I can see some of his reasons. You 
know, Richard, that all things that happen to 
us in this life are of very small importance 
when compared with the things of eternit}^. If 
I should never be able to do what I wish to do 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


39 


for you and your sisters, and what I came here 
with the hope of doing, yet if God’s dealings 
should be such as to fit us better for the king- 
dom of heaven, should we b^ losers or gainers ?” 

“Gainers, of course,” said Richard. 

“ That is what I want you to feel.” 

“ But then, father,” said Richard, “I don’t 
see why, if God sees fit, we might not have been 
just as ready for heaven without such disap- 
pointments.” 

“ But perhaps, if you study the providence 
of God, you may be able to see.” 

“Well, father, please tell me what you 
think is the reason we have been so disap- 
pointed.” 

“ I don’t know that I can tell the reason. 
This is one of the secret things that belong to 
God. But I may be able to learn some lessons 
from' it. And in the first place I may learn to 
remember how uncertain every thing is upon 
earth.” 

“ But then, we know that already. We 
never feel sure of any fhing till it comes to 
pass.” 

“ I know we always say every thing is uncer- 
tain, but we don’t feel it deeply enough. When 


40 


independence: 


something fails to be realized upon which w'c 
confidently depended, and upon wdiich we have 
built strong hopes, then we are made to feel it. 
But this feeling will be of little service, unless we 
learn to look away from the w^orld, and remem- 
ber that we may depend with perfect confidence 
upon heavenly things, and they will never disap- 
point us. If we learn this lesson well, it will make 
us more diligent in seeking to realize and enjoy 
(even while we are here) the inheritance we have 
above.” 

“ That will be a good lesson for me, if I only 
learn it well.” 

“ But that is not the only lesson that we 
may learn from our present circumstances. 
We must learn also, dependence upon God, and 
seek submission to his will. Don’t you know 
he could just as easily have given us a pleasant 
home as not ?” 

“Yes, father, if it had been best for us.” 

“ So we must remember, while we try to im- 
prove our situation, that we are entirely depend- 
ent upon God, and that he can destroy us, or 
build us up, as he sees fit.” 

“ Well, father, I don’t wonder you are cheer- 
ful,” said Richard. “I wish I understood 
these things as well as you do.” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


41 


You must think upon them, and now fix 
them well in your mind. First of all, read your 
Bible, and seek wisdom from God. The truths 
of the Bible are just as precious here as else- 
where, and prayer is just as effectual. Try 
also, always to understand God’s dealings with 
you, and study his providence by the light of 
the Scriptures, and with prayer. And then, 
when you have thus tried to seek first the king- 
dom of God and his righteousness, try as well 
as you can to make things comfortable and plea- 
sant around you. Never give up for a moment 
because you don’t find things ready to your 
hand, but remember the maxim I have so often 
repeated to you. Though it is true that we 
are entirely in the hands of God, and dependent 
on him for grace and strength to do his will, 
yet it is in an important sense equally true that 
we can render ourselves independent of circum- 
stances, by controlling them.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by meet- 
ing a train of movers. As the motley assem- 
blage passed by, some huddled into wagons 
■with household stuff of all sorts and some 
plodding along on foot, several profane words 
caught the ear of Mr. Summerville and his son, 

4 * 


42 


independence: 


and a double force was added to the instruction 
he bad been endeavouring to convey to Richard’s 
mind, by the contrast afforded by these persons 
' who w’ere calling down curses upon themselves, 
and upon whose unblest home, wherever they 
might find it, the cheering and sanctifying in- 
fluence they felt in their own humble abode 
would not descend. 

They passed on to the village, where they 
procured the articles they wished, and then re- 
turned home. They found various changes had 
taken place during their absence. The rough 
and unsightly logs w’cre covered within with 
newspapers which Mrs. Summerville had neatly 
pasted upon them ; and, when the windows were 
put in their places, the room looked quite 
cheerful, though it required no small amount 
of labour and ingenuity to make them fit, as the 
only window-sashes Mr. Summerville had been 
able to procure were some which had been re- 
moved from an old building which was to be 
fitted up anew, and they were several inches 
smaller than his window-frames ! 

A small fire was blazing upon the hearth, 
and the light danced and flickered as merrily 
as if it had shone upon gilded walls and 


TRUE AND FALSE 


48 


elegant furniture, and the faces upon whicli 
it fell were quite as bright as if every thing 
around them had been all they could have 
wished. 




44 


independence; 


CHAPTER III. 

We cannot note all the improvements that 
were made in the log cabin "where our friends 
reside. We will be content with saying that at 
the end of a fortnight, the house and yard 
around it had undergone such a transformation 
that it would have been difficult to recognise in 
it the desolate and deserted looking place that 
the Summervilles had found. It had been by 
hard toil that the change was WTOught, but those 
whose business it was, had not shrunk from put- 
ting their hands to the labour. 

Mr. Summerville and Richard had repaired 
the fence that surrounded the house, and re- 
moved all the rubbish from the inclosure ; and 
they had also made some changes within. A 
floor had been laid upon the logs that stretched 
from side to side over head, and a partition had 
been made, dividing the house into two rooms. 
The boards were rough, to be sure, but they 
had already learned that it would not do to be 
too particular. They had also repaired the 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


45 


rough and broken floor, and it was now covered 
with a carpet, the coarsest which Mrs. Summer- 
ville had brought with her. Richard had been 
of the greatest service to his mother. He had 
turned his hand to a variety of employments, 
such as he never thought of before, and had in 
this way contributed in no small degree to the 
general comfort of the family. 

Richard, although he had at times entertained 
a wavering hope, had never ventured to consider 
himself a real Christian. But religious instruc- 
tion had been interwoven with every event of 
his life, and had become so entwined with his 
thoughts, that not a day passed in which re- 
flections upon the great things of the soul and 
eternity were not suggested to his mind by the 
various changes which occurred. He reflected 
much upon the conversation he had with his 
father on their way to the village, and many 
thoughts came into his mind in consequence of it. 

He had been taught from his early childhood 
always to read a portion of Scripture daily, and 
to offer prayer to God, and this duty now seemed 
enforced by every circumstance around him. 
He remembered his father’s remark, that with- 
out the Bible and without prayer, he should be 
ready to sink into despondency ; and he thought 


46 


independence: 


if his father needed these things to help him, 
how much more did he need them. He always 
found that his reading a portion of Scripture in 
the morning, and then lifting his heart in 
prayer to God, was the greatest safeguard to 
him through the day. It made all his little 
troubles and annoyances seem light, to think 
of the far superior interests of eternity. He 
endeavoured, also, to remember what his father 
had told him about studying God’s providences, 
and every day he was seeking to learn some 
new lesson from them. 

After they had been about two weeks in their 
new abode, and were quite comfortably ar- 
ranged about the house, Mr. Summerville and 
Richard prepared to begin the out-door work. 
There was much to be done before winter set in. 

It was already planned, and the first thing 
to be done was to repair the broken fences. 
They went to the woods, and the vigorous 
strokes of their axes soon rung through the air, 
and it was not long before a sturdy tree was 
lying prostrate. Richard had never been accus- 
tomed to hard labour, and by the time the tree 
was felled, he was pretty tired. He seated 
himself upon the trunk, and his father sat down 
for a few moments by his side. His thoughts 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


47 


soon turned into the channel to which they had 
been directed by their former conversation. 
After a while he said : — Father, I think there 
is another lesson I might learn from the way 
we have been dealt with.” 

‘‘ What is that, my son ?” 

To make myself more useful than I have 
ever been before. I never imagined there were 
so many things I could do to help you and mo- 
ther. I don’t do much, to be sure,” he con- 
tinued, dropping his head, “but I believe I am 
beginning to learn to do some things.” 

“ That is a valuable lesson, Richard,” re- 
plied Mr. Summerville, with a smile of appro- 
bation. “You must learn not to live for your- 
self alone.” 

“I am afraid I should never have learned 
that in our old house, father. It seems to me 
if we had stayed there, I should just have gone 
on studying, and I’m afraid I should have been 
selfish about it all. But here I can’t do anv 
thing for myself, and I am compelled to think 
about others. I can’t help it,” said he, laughing. 

“ You then can see the wisdom of God, my 
son. If I had desired to teach you that lesson, 
I might have tried many ways, and might have 
failed at last. But as you say, God can place 


48 


.independence: 


us where cannot help learning "what he 
wishes us to learn, unless we are shamefully 
dull or obstinate.” 

‘‘And yet we don’t learn sometimes,” said 
Richard. 

“AYe shall not learn properly unless we 
seek for God’s Spirit to teach us. I hope you 
do not forget that.” 

“ No ; I do not forget to ask, — but I am 
sometimes afraid I do not ask properly, be- 
cause I do so many wrong things.” 

“That must teach you still more deeply 
your dependence upon God. AVithout him 
you might as well undertake to build a pa- 
lace where our cabin stands as to train your 
soul for his service.” 

“But, father, it was so mean in Mr. Murra}’’ 
to deceive you so much about this place. It 
makes me angry to think of it,” said Richard, 
and his face flushed as he spoke. 

“It "was certainly very wrong, but be careful 
that you do not allow" sinful feelings to over- 
come you on account of it. AATienever you 
think of it, remember that, however unjust he 
may have been, it was all under the control of 
God, and the evil may be overruled by Him 
for our greatest good.” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


49 


Yes : but to think of your having to work so 
hard as you will to get things in order here, 
and all for him, too, when he has served you so 
meanly.” 

“ Do you remember what I said to you the 
other day about the comparative importance of 
the things of this world, and the concerns of the 
soul?” 

‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“Well, then, suppose I do have to labour 
hard, if I learn lessons respecting eternal 
things, and respecting God’s dealings Avith me, 
I shall have no reason to regret it. And do 
you be careful, my son, that, while you strive 
by your labour to control these adverse circum- 
stances so as to be independent of them, you 
do not become the slave of your own passions. 
You remember the Bible says, ‘Whosoever 
committeth sin is the servant of sin.’ ” 

Richard did not ansAver, and his father left 
him to think of AARat had been said. It Avas a 
habit of Mr. Summerville, in conversing Avith 
his children, often to leave a passage of Scrip- 
ture in their minds, that they might meditate 
upon it ; and sometimes, Avhen he knew nothing 

about it, they had been restrained from sin by 

5 


< 


50 


independence: 


the recollection of some such passage. Richard 
was a thoughtful hoy, and it seemed as if he 
had really grown considerably older very fast 
during the few weeks that had passed since 
they left their Eastern home. Mr. Summerville 
had deeply regretted the necessity of keeping 
him from school, but he was learning faster 
than he had ever' learned in any school but 
that of adversity. 

After a few minutes Mr. Summerville got up, 
and taking his axe again, went to work lopping 
off the branches of the tree. Richard did the 
same, but while his hands were thus employed, 
his mind was busy with other things. He had 
a notion that if he was only energetic, and did 
not suifer himself to be overpowered by the cir- 
cumstances around him, he should be doing 
pretty well. The lesson about being independ- 
ent of circumstances he was sure he had learned 
by heart ; but he had not quite so fully learned 
that it was a great deal harder to be independ- 
ent of himself. 

They did not engage in any further conver- 
sation, except about their work, during the day. 
Towards night they returned home. The little 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


51 


girls ran to meet them, one clinging to the 
hand of her father, and the other to her 
brother. 

“ 0, Richard,” said Maggie, eagerly, ‘‘what 
do you think we have found?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Richard : 
“youhav’nt found a gold mine, have you?” 

“ Now, don’t talk so. We have really found 
something very nice.” 

“ Well, what is it ?” 

“ Oh, a great bundle of flower seeds ! Nannie 
and I were playing out in the shed, and I saw 
something in a paper, stuffed away under a 
log, and I pulled it out and it was full of flower 
seeds. Oh, I’m so glad somebody saved them ! 
And in the spring, Nannie and I are going to 
have flowers all along the path, and vines around 
the house. Oh, it will be so pretty, father! 
Won’t it?”‘ 

“Yes, dear,” said Mr. Summerville, “we 
shall be very glad to have something of the kind. 
But what have you been doing all day ?” 

Maggie repeated over a long list of things 
she had done, and among others, that she had 
learned some verses in the Bible, and her 
mother had talked to her a great deal about 
them. 


52 


independence: 


By this time they were in the house, where 
tea was waiting for them, and wliere the in- 
structions of the day were to be enforced and 
hallowed by the associations of a Christian 
home, and cherished by household prayer. 



TRUE AND FALSE. 


53 


CHAPTER lY. 

The Summervilles had not been long in their 
new home, when they found themselves becom- 
ing very well acquainted with their neighbours, 
if neighbours they could be called who were 
scattered around them at distances from two 
miles and upward, with the exception of one 
family, whose farm joined theirs. That free- 
dom and familiarity which are characteristic 
of Western society, brought them into closer 
contact with some of these neighbours than 
they would have desired ; and Mr. Summerville 
was not long in observing the lamentable fact 
that many who were moral, and indeed out- 
wardly religious in their Eastern homes, be- 
came immoral and irreligious when removed 
from the restraints of more settled society, 
and the influence of established religious in- 
stitutions. He found it to be his misfortune 
that he was surrounded with persons of this 

class, of whose influence on his children (in con- 

5 * 


54 


independence: 


sequence of their unrestrained familiarity) he 
had no little fear. 

But that which he especially lamented was the 
absence of all means of religious instruction. 
Although in his own family he could partially 
supply this deficiency, yet he was pained by 
seeing the half-grown boys and girls of the 
vicinity, strolling about on the Lord’s day, 
■while their parents, he well knew, ’were either 
at home, idling away the time, or else engaged 
in some improper employment. 

There were churches and Sunday-schools in 
the village about seven miles off, but this was 
much too far to attract those who cared so little 
for religious instruction as his neighbours. He 
therefore resolved, as soon as the winter was 
over, to establish a Sunday-school. 

As he and Kichard w^ere one day employed 
about their usual work, Mr. Lee, who occupied 
the adjoining farm, came along. 

“ How are you, neighbour ?” 

Mr. Summerville had just been revolving in 
his mind his plan of forming a school, and he 
managed the conversation so as to introduce 
the subject to his neighbour Lee. 

“A Sunday-school! What for?” said Mr, 
Lee, grufily. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


55 


‘‘ Why, to teach our children the Scriptures 
and the way of eternal life,” replied Mr. Sum- 
merville. 

‘‘ Teach your own children if you want to, 
but mine ’ll do well enough without,” said Mr. 
Lee, — turning and walking angrily away. 

Richard looked up in amazement. He had 
never in his life heard any one speak so. His 
father well understood how irreligious and sin- 
ful sentiments soon lose their repulsiveness, 
even in the view of a well-instructed child, by 
becoming familiar, and for that reason he had 
carefully kept his children from conversation 
with such persons. But as we are always likely 
to hear more or less of such conversation, it is 
well we should know there is an effectual pre- 
servation against its corrupting influence. 

Mr. Lee’s farm was in a very different condi- 
tion from Mr. Summerville’s, in consequence of 
his having lived upon it for a number of years, 
and being possessed of the means necessary for 
its improvement. He had built a fine, com- 
modious house, and every thing about his pre- 
mises bore the appearance of ease and wealth. 
Yet there was a something about the aspect of 
the farm which Mr. Summerville could not un- 
derstand. There was a want of that trim and 


56 


independence: 


orderly neatness which are always the outward 
indications of industry and thrift. 

Richard had often heard his father speak in 
terms of respect of Mr. Lee, and he had him- 
self formed a pleasing acquaintance 'with his 
son Walter. It was this that caused him to 
look up with such astonishment at what Mr. 
Lee said. And, indeed, Mr. Summerville w^as 
not much less surprised. Mr. Lee had always 
appeared to be of the better class among his 
neighbours, though Mr. Summerville had never 
before obtained any knowledge of his religious 
views; but he had seen this unfavourable sign, 
that Walter was always out on the Sabbath, 
wandering about, or fishing, or riding his fa- 
vourite pony. However, Walter was a very 
active and strong-headed boy, and Mr. Sum- 
merville did not feel certain after all, that his 
father really allowed him to indulge in these 
sports on that sacred day, and he had even 
thought Mr. Lee might be glad of some nevf 
and additional influence to restrain him. 

Neither he nor Richard spoke for some time ; 
but Mr. Summerville at length perceiving that 
Richard was expecting him to say something, 
broke the silence by saying : — “ Rather dis- 
couraging, isn’t it, Richard?” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


57 


“I did’nt think Mr. Lee would talk so, fa- 
ther,” replied Richard. 

Nor I. I am quite surprised.” 

I will have no more to do with Walter,” 
continued Richard : — that’s certain.” 

“ I should not wish you to make him an inti- 
mate friend,” replied Mr. Summerville. But 
you cannot altogether avoid him. And even if 
you could, you would by no means secure your- 
self against wicked influences. You know that 
in order to do that, one must needs go out of 
the world.” 

“ Yes ; but then I must try as much as I 
can, must’nt I ?” 

‘‘ Yes ; but you have reached an age when 
your principles and your strength to resist evil 
must be tried, and perhaps severely. AYe have 
guarded you as much as possible from such in- 
fluences during your childhood, and at the same 
time we have been trying to fortify you with 
good principles. The time has come, when you 
will be called into closer contact with evil, and 
the strength of your principles must be tried. 
You will And that your life is beset Avith diffi- 
culties, not only from outward circumstances, 
but an evil heart. We live in a corrupt world. 
If you Avish to be a good and useful man, you 


58 


independence: 


will have to contend with all these obstacles, 
and must strive to overcome them all. Re- 
member to be independent not only of circum- 
stances and of your own bad passions, and also 
of evil companions. It is a hard task, but all 
these are necessary to constitute true independ- 
ence of character. Still in every effort you 
make, remember your entire dependence upon 
God. Trusting in his guidance as given by 
his Providence, his word, and his spirit, you 
may be independent of every thing else.” 

Richard thought much of this, till at length 
the idea came into his mind that thinkino; 
would never accomplish any thing, unless he 
acted as well as thought. This reminded him 
of the circumstance that had been the occasion 
of his father’s instruction, and he suddenly ex- 
claimed: — ‘^Well, father, what is to be done 
about this Sunday-school?” 

‘‘ Why, we wall see what we can do. If we 
cannot get the help of the fathers, we wdll try 
what we can do with the children.” 

“ Will you ?” said Richard, joyfully. “ I 
was afraid we should have to give it up.” 

‘‘You are easily discouraged.” 

“Why, to be sure Was,” said he, thoughtfully. 
“ When shall I learn to be more hopeful ?” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


59 


‘‘You may take a lesson next Lord’s day,” ' 
replied his father, “ and see how Lir the in- 
struction I have given you will work practi- 
cally. Principle without practice is worthless, 
or, to express a similar truth in Bible language, 
‘Faith without works is dead.’ ” 

Mr. Summerville and Richard took pains, in 
the course of the week, to notify all the chil- 
dren of the neighbourhood of the proposed 
school, and at the end of the week it was 
pretty well known that the children were in- 
vited to meet at Mr. Summerville’s house, and 
when the time came, a considerable number 
■were gathered. Many, it is true, came from 
mere curiosity, but whatever the motive that 
brought them there, they heard some Bible 
truth, and were taught something of their du- 
ties and responsibilities. 

Walter Lee, of course, 'was not present at 
the Sunday-school. He had no encouragement 
from his parents, and his own inclinations 
■would be far from leading him there. Richard 
resolved from that time to have nothing more 
to do with him, but he found it was not so easy 
to avoid his acquaintance as he had supposed it 
might be. Walter was one of that large class 
of boys who have nothing to do. He did not 


60 


INDEPENDENCE^ 


choose to go to school, and he had still less in- 
clination to work. His father had given him a 
fine pony, and his principal employment was to 
ride about, or sometimes to hunt and fish. As 
is generally the case with such boys, there was 
much of the time when he felt dissatisfied w'ith 
himself, and with every person and every thing 
around him. Scarcely a day passed, in the 
course of which Richard might not see him 
galloping past on his pony, and invariably, if 
Richard’s work happened to be near the fence, 
he would rein up, and enter into conversation. 
He had too much vanity, ever to think that his 
company might not be acceptable, and even if 
he had imagined it, he would have been too 
wilful to keep out of the way. 

On Saturday afternoon of the week following 
the opening of the Sunday-school, Richard w'as 
plowing. He had just turned his horses to- 
ward the road, from the more distant side of 
the field, when Walter came in sight. Rich- 
ard wished much to avoid meeting him, but he 
could not, unless he should stop, and remain 
still till Walter had passed, and that he did not 
like to do. So he went on, and approached 
the fence just in time to receive Walter’s salu- 
tation : — 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


61 


‘^Well, Dick, working away, eh?” 

‘‘Yes, -working away,” Richard rejoined, 
cheerfully, beginning to turn his horses. 

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” said Walter. 
“ Can’t you stop and talk with a fellow a bit? 
I would’nt work as you do, for nobody !” 

A confused mixture of Scripture truth came 
into Richard’s mind, among which the most 
conspicuous sentiment was, “If any man will 
not work, neither shall he eat:” but there was, 
also, the recollection of the Saviour’s words, 
“ Cast not your pearls before swine,” and he 
therefore quietly replied : — 

“Well, I am willing to work as long as it 
is necessary. I -would like to go to school, 
if I could, — and may-be I’ll have a chance 
yet.” 

“Work and go to school!” replied Walter, 
contemptuously. “Why, Avhen do you ever 
expect to have any fun, if you don’t have it 
now. I tell father it will be time enough for 
me to go to work when I get old enough to 
have something to do for myself.” 

“But if I did not work, father would have 
my share to do and his 'own too, and this 
would’nt suit me.” 

“ Well, it’s no use talking about it ; only I 

G 


62 


independence: 


woulcrnt do it, that’s all. But I just stopped 
to ask you to go fishing with me to-morrow;.” 

‘‘Why, to-morrow^ is Sunday,” exclaimed 
Richard, with surprise. 

“ Well, what of that?” asked Walter. 

“ What of that ! Why, did you never learn 
the commandments ?” 

“ Oh, yes, to be sure, I have heard something 
about them.” 

“ Heard about them ! Did you never learn 
them ?” 

“ I don’t know but I did once. I’ve most 
forgot. I believe I’ll have to come to your 
Sunday-school and learn them over again.” 

“ Oh, do !” exclaimed Richard, eagerly, 
“ Now won’t you ?” 

“ May-be I will!” replied Yf alter. 

“It’s so pleasant,” continued Richard, “to 
study the Bible. We can’t go to church here, 
and it seems so good to have some such em- 
ployment on the Sabbath.” 

“Yes, ’tis a kind of a hard day to get along 
with, unless you take my way. I w'onder wdiich 
is really the best, my way or yours,” said Wal- 
ter, with mock soberness. 

Richard did not notice the mischievous 
twinkle of Walter’s eye, but eagerly answ^ered ; 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


63 


“ Oil, if you would only try my way, you would 
soon say it was the best. Won’t you come to- 
morrow, Walter?” 

‘‘ But now, Dick, why wont you try my 
way?” said Walter. 

“ Oh, because I know it is wrong. Father 
has always taught me so, and the Bible says 
so, and I know it is so.” 

A loud laugh from Walter was the first inti- 
mation to Bichard that his companion had been 
all the wdiile only trifling with him. 

thought so! I thought so!” shouted 
Walter.^ “Have you no more independence 
than that ? Why don’t you think for yourself, 
and do what you like, instead of being driven 
about that way? Prince and I know better,” 
said he, stroking the neck of his beautiful pony. 
“ Come, Prince, let’s be oif !” and away he gal- 
loped, leaving Richard in a kind of bewilder- 
^ment. He stood a moment, gazing after Wal- 
ter, and then turned his horses into their 
course, and pursued his work and his thoughts 
together. , 

Mr. Summerville was at work in another 
field, and saw Walter and Richard talking to- 
gether. When he met his son as they returned 
from their day’s work, he inquired what had 


64 


independence: 


been the subject of their conversation. Rich- 
ard repeated as much as he could recall, and 
then after some moments of silence, added : — 
Why is it, father, that we cannot always 
think for ourselves, and form our own opinion 
of what is right and wrong ?” 

“ Do you mean independently of the Bible ?” 
asked Mr. Summerville. 

“ Why, not exactly,” replied Richard, unwil- 
ling to acknowledge to his father how nearly 
he did desire to exclude its divine teachings. 
“ But, for instance, if I had not had you to in- 
struct me, probably I should not have learned 
to understand the Bible, and should have had 
different ideas about many things, and it seems 
such a pity when there are so many that have 
no one to teach them, that they should be in 
danger of getting so far out of the way.” 

“ It is, indeed, a pity,” replied Mr. Summer- 
ville : “but is it not a fact? Does not Walter 
himself show that the natural judgment of a 
boy, to say nothing of men, is not likely to be 
correct ?” 

“ I suppose it is so, and that is the reason I 
asked you the question. Why should it be so ?” 

“ Can it be accounted for in any other way 
than by the sinfulness of the heart?” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


65 


‘‘ I suppose not,” replied Richard. 

“ Does’nt it seem plain to you that we need 
a Bible to tell us what is right, and also that 
we need to be instructed by good men, who 
have had their hearts renewed by the Spirit of 
God?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Richard, I see that we 
could not get along at all without it.” 

If we had not such a standard of truth, 
one person would think one thing to be right, 
and another would think another to be right, 
and there would be no end to the confusion. 
Even heathen nations, who have not the true 
revelation, see the necessity of having some 
standard, which may possess an authority from 
which there is no appeal. They can see that 
human opinions are too various, and too 
changeable to be trusted.” 

But do you suppose it would be so if men 
were not sinners?” 

There are many things, no doubt, that 
must still have been matters of pure revela- 
tion. There would not be the same bias to 
evil, it is true; but none but infinite wisdom 
can be infallible, even where there is no sin. 
Whenever these thoughts come into your mind, 

Richard, remember that it was just that desire . 

6 * 


66 


independence: 


to be independent of God, that the tempter in- 
fused into the minds of our first parents, when 
he promised them that, by eating the forbidden 
fruit, they should become as gods, knowing 
good and evil.” 

By this time they had reached the house, 
where the little girls were ready to meet them, 
and where they were always sure of finding 
that happiest of all earthly scenes, — a happy 
home circle. 




TRUE AND FALSE. 


67 


CHAPTER V. 

Spring had so far advanced that vegetation 
was beginning to appear in its beauty ; the 
birds were returning from their sojourn in 
summer climes, and chirping and singing in 
every direction. Wonderful and beautiful to 
the city-bred children Avere the delights of 
spring in the open country. Many improve- 
ments Avere made about the home of the Sum- 
mer villes, not the least of which Av^as the laying 
out of the little garden inclosed around the 
house, and the turfing of the space in front, 
Avhile along the edges of the Avalks Avere soAvn 
the floAver-seeds that Maggie and Nannie had 
found in the old shed. 

While Mr. Summerville and Richard Avorked 
in the fields, plowing and planting, Mrs. Sum- 
merAulIe and the little girls Avere not less busily 
employed about the house, beautifying and im- 
proving whatever their scanty means and ma- 
terials would enable them to do. Shrubs Avere 


68 


independence: 


procured and set out, vines were trained over 
the rough and unsightly logs, the walks were 
kept even and in good order ; and, in short, 
good taste and industry had converted this 
miserable abode, into a home of comfort, and — 
so far as it could be — of beauty. 

Let us now look in upon Mr. Lee and his 
son Walter at home. Mr. Lee’s farm was, in 
itself considered, a valuable piece of property. 
With good management, it might have been 
made a charming place, but negligence was fast 
bringing it to ruin. The house was large and 
commodious. It had originally been white, but 
the paint was worn off, and the house was be- 
ginning to look old and dingy. The steps were 
tumbling down, and the fences around it were 
broken. A beautiful grove of the natural 
growth of the soil had been left in front of the 
house, but the untrimmed branches had grown 
thick and matted, and cattle, pigs, and fowls 
were straying at large through it. 

Yet Mr. Lee had means sufficient to have 
kept his house in fine order, and for many 
years he had done so. The time had been 
when he had looked forward with the hope and 
expectation that Walter would soon be able to 
render him assistance, and he had laboured 




Mr. Lee was sitting in his arm-chair, on the porch that 
front of his house, smoking his pipe. 


o^, 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


69 


cheerfully with this hope, and with the idea al- 
ways uppermost in his mind, that it was for 
Walter he was labouring, and that this, his 
only son, would at length be the proprietor of 
a valuable and beautiful estate. But at the 
same time he had suffered Walter to grow up 
in idleness and without restraint. And, be- 
sides, he had early comprehended that he was 
sole heir to his father’s property, and from this 
he had inferred that he need not work, and 
that he could do as he pleased. 

Mr. Lee had seen these bad habits growing 
and strengthening in his son, but he had waited 
and waited, year after year, thinking the time 
would come when they would be subdued more 
easily and more effectually, or possibly be out- 
grown. At the same time, it had a very de- 
pressing effect upon him, and had by degrees 
impaired his own energy. 

One beautiful evening in the spring, Mr. Lee 
was sitting in his arm-chair, on the porch that 
ran along the front of his house, smoking his 
pipe, and evidently in a deep reverie. He had 
been that day taking a kind of review of his 
premises. The conclusion was unavoidable, 
that things were not as they used to be. 
The time had been that he would not have 


70 


INDEPENDENCE 


allowed his affairs to fall into such confusion, 
and he wondered what the reason could be. He 
was conscious that he felt depressed, and, as he 
expressed it, “had no heart to work;’’ and he 
thought that all could be traced to his disap- 
pointment and discouragement about Walter. 

Just then Walter rode up to the gate, and 
jumped from his pony. 

“I’ll turn over a new leaf,” said Mr. Lee, 
rising with a resolute air, and knocking the 
ashes from his pipe. “ I’ll make the boy 
work !” 

AValter walked up to the house, and was met 
by his father. 

“ Walter,” said he, “ I think it time for you 
to begin to wmrk a little, and I’ve been plan- 
ning something for you to do to-morrow.” 

“I can make my own plans,” replied Walter. 

“Well now, my boy, look here,” said he, 
coaxingly, “you see how the fence is broken 
all round here, and the steps are rotting away, 
and I’ve no time to mend them. I ^Yish you’d 
just try your hand at it.” 

“ I reckon if you want that kind of work 
done, you’ll have to get somebody to do it,” 
replied Walter, walking away. 

Mr. Lee sat down and took up his pipe again 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


71 


with an air of discouragement ; but he did not 
quite give it up yet. 

Maybe he’ll come round after a while,” 
said he to himself. 

So he waited patiently till the next week, 
expecting every day to see Walter set himself 
about the work. 

At length one morning, as he went out to 
his work, Walter followed him. 

‘‘ Where are you going, Walter?” said he. 

To catch Prince,” replied Walter. 

“ Where are you going with Prince ?” 

To town.” 

^AVhen will you fix up these fences ?” 

When it’s my business to take care of the 
farm I’ll do it, and not before.” 

And so Mr. Lee gave it up. He had not had 
energy or decision enough to keep the evil 
habit from coming upon his son, and he had 
now far too little efficiency to correct it, after 
it had become so strong. 

Walter rode off to town, and on his way, 
passed the field where Richard was planting 
corn. 

‘‘Come, Dick,” said he, “go to towm with 
me. Get your father to let you off one day. 
He makes you work like a slave^” 


72 


independence: 


“I don’t 'vvant to be let off,” said Richard. 
‘‘ I’m sure I would rather work and try to get 
things comfortable, than to have every thing 
go to ruin.” 

‘‘ Ho ! ho I You can’t fool me that way. 
You just work because your father makes you. 
My father tried to get me into the harness the 
other day, but I soon showed him that I was’nt 
to be driven about — I’m too independent for 
that.” 

‘‘ What ! Too independent to do what your 
father wants you to do?” exclaimed Richard, 
with surprise. 

‘‘ There, — I knew you hadn’t any spirit 
about you. You’d work all day and all night, 
— and Sunday too, if your father told you to.” 

‘‘My father would’nt tell me to do any thing 
that wasn’t right,” replied Richard; “and I 
would a great deal rather he should tell me 
what is best for me to do, for I’m sure I should 
make mistakes. He never says a word to me 
about working, though, only to tell me what 
to do. I work, because the work has to be 
done, or else w’e can’t get along at all. Why, 
who would do this if I didn’t. I’m sure father 
has as much as he can do, if I do all I can to 
help.” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


73 


‘at’ s none of my concern who’d do it, only 
I know I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, I think it ought to be my concern.” 

“ And you mean to say you think it ought 
to be mine, too. And I mean to say, that 
is none of your business !” and with his face 
flushed with anger, he used all sorts of abusive 
language. 

Richard felt all his quick and excitable pas- 
sions stirred at this wanton insult, but remember- 
ing that “he that committeth sin is the servant 
of sin,” he kept calm, and suffered Walter’s 
anger to vent itself in vulgar oaths and harsh 
threats. Walter, flnding that Richard would / 
not return evil treatment, and tortured by his 
own evil passions, rode off. He hated Richard, 
for, although he had called him a coward, he 
could not help seeing that he had shown far 
more courage than himself, and of a far nobler 
kind. 

Rut Richard felt that he had acted rightly. 
He had shown himself independent of the evil 
example of his visiter, and independent of his 
own passions ; and the consciousness of this, 
gave him new courage in his efforts to attain 
that true nobility of character that his father 

had set before him as a model. 

7 


74 


independence: 


It so happened that Richard was obliged to 
go to town on the same day that this conversa- 
tion occurred. lie did not tell Walter so, be- 
cause he preferred not to go in company with 
him. At the same time he feared that he should 
meet Walter, and that he would be angry with 
him on account of it. He deferred going as 
long as he could, in the hope that Walter 
would have returned. But in spite of this 
precaution, he met Walter soon after entering 
the village. 

Well, Dick !” he exclaimed, ‘‘ what has 
brought you to town ?” 

I came to do something for my father.” 

“ Why didn’t you come along with me ?” 

I was not ready to come, then.” 

‘‘But I’d have waited, if I had thought you 
was coming.” 

“ I didn’t suppose you’d want my company 
after what you said to me this morning.” 

“You had better say at once that you didn’t 
want mine ; but I shall go home with you, any 
how.” 

“ You can do as you please about that.” 

“Well, you are an independent fellow!” 
shouted one of Walter’s comrades, addressing 
Richard. 


TEUE AND FALSE. 


75 


^‘Independent!” said Walter, scornfully; 
“I’d like to see him show a little of his inde- 
pendence. Why, he daren’t so much as think, 
unless his father says he may !” 

Taunts of this kind were very hard for Rich- 
ard to bear, because they referred not only to 
himself, but to his father. His face reddened 
with anger, and he was about to reply hastily, 
but he checked himself. 

“ Ha !” shouted Walter, “you need not pre- 
tend to be so cool. You can get as mad as 
any body, if you’ve a mind to.” 

“But I havn’t a mind to,” replied Richard, 
turning his horse, and riding away. 

Having accomplished his errand, he started 
homeward. He rode on some distance, and 
was congratulating himself that he had fairly 
got away from Walter, when he heard the clat- 
ter of horses’ hoofs behind him, and turning 
around, he saw Walter galloping after him. 

“ You thought you’d get away, didn’t you ?” 
shouted Walter, as soon as he had got within 
speaking distance. “ ’Taint so easy, I can tell 
you, to slip away from me !” 

“I didn’t know but you had gone on.” 

“ Didn’t I tell you I should go home with 
you? Did you think I would tell a lie?” 


76 


independence: 


Oh, I hope not !” replied Richard ; “ but I 
thought you might have been tired of waiting 
for me.” 

‘‘ What have you been doing in town to- 
day, Dick ? and what have you got in those 
bundles ?” 

‘‘ I’ve some things for father, and some for 
mother.” 

Well, that isn’t telling what 3mu’ve got.” 

I don’t feel under any obligation to tell 
you,” replied Richard. 

“You don’t, eh? Well, I’ll make you feel 
under obligations to be civil,” said Walter, 
riding up close to Richard, and giving his 
horse a cut with his riding-whip. 

Richard’s horse started a little, but he was a 
quiet creature, and soon resumed his usual gait. 
Walter was resolved to be avenged on Richard, 
however, for the cool manner in which he had 
foiled him in his repeated attacks during the 
day, and he again rode up and attempted to 
strike Richard’s horse. This time, Richard 
turned quickly round and tried to seize Wal- 
ter’s whip. In the struggle, AValter’s horse be- 
came restive, and at length pitched his rider 
over his head. Richard caught the bridle of 
the pony, and hastily fastening the two horses 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


7T 


to tlie fence, ran to AYalter, who, he saw from 
the first, was not much hurt. He assisted him 
to a stump by the road side, on which he seated 
himself to recover from the shock. He was 
somewhat bruised, but was soon able to go on. 

The two boys mounted again, and rode on 
— but Walter was completely crestfallen, and 
scarcely spoke, except occasionally to utter an 
angry exclamation against his pony. Eichard 
hoped that Walter might learn a lesson from 
this little incident, and be less overbearing in 
future ; but it was not so. He still continued 
to he Richard’s tormentor whenever they met, 
proving the truth of the saying, that it is not 
those that have injured him, that a malicious 
person most hates, but those whom he has in- 
jured. This, of course, became a constant 
trial to Richard, but it was a constant disci- 
pline too, by which he was strengthened not 
only in resisting evil example, but also in 
struggling against his own passions. 

And he had many other trials to bear. His 
work was laborious, and it was by no means 
according to his natural taste. Yet he felt 
that they must all work, or else give up, and 
live on, in hopeless poverty and misery, all their 
lives. 


78 


independence: 


His greatest trial was that he was deprived 
of the opportunity of pursuing his studies. 
He was fond of books, and had always stood 
high as a scholar, and his own ambition, as 
well as his father’s design, was, that he might 
be able to go through, what is generally termed 
a thorough course of education. There was 
no hope of his being able to accomplish this, — 
at least, so soon as he wished, in their present 
situation, unless he could manage in some way 
to prosecute his studies at home. This he re- 
solved to do. He had a number of books that 
he had not thoroughly studied, and he deter- 
mined to devote his evenings resolutel}^ to 
them, till he had mastered them. But he found 
it a hard task. He always came home from 
his work extremely tired, and he often found 
himself so dull and sleepy, from being out of 
doors, engaged in active labour through the 
day, that it was almost impossible for him to 
apply himself to study. But though he was 
sometimes discouraged, he yet felt that it was 
far better than if he were not able to study at 
all ; and by perseverance, he became, after a 
while, so habituated to his circumstances, as to 
make considerable progress. 


TKUE AND FALSE. 


79 


CHAPTER VI. 

The summer passed rapidly away, and the 
exertions of the Summervilles to keep their 
farm ins order, and to secure for themselves 
prosperity and comfort, were very great. Toil ! 
toil ! day after day, would suffice for a general 
description of their mode of life. Yet inter- 
spersed among the days of labour were seasons 
of refreshment, when the family gathered in 
their snug little home, to enjoy each other’s 
society, and beguile their weariness with cheer- 
ful conversation. And how precious were their 
Sabbaths ! They were, it is true, deprived of 
the privilege of going to the house of God ; but 
the holy hours, diversified with reading, sing- 
ing, conversation and instruction, never be- 
came a weariness, but, on the contrary, were 
always a delight. 

From their early childhood, the children had 
been accustomed to constant familiarity with 
the word of God ; and in consequence of the 
frequency with which religious subjects had 


80 


independence: 


/ 


been made the theme of conversation between 
their parents and them, there existed nothing 
of that stiffness and reserve which too often 
rears an icy barrier between parents and chil- 
dren, on these all-important topics. 

On the Sabbath, Mr. and Mrs. Summerville 
never failed to devote a large portion of their 
time to household instruction, and the children 
were sure to learn something, or at least to be 
newly impressed with something that would go 
with them through the week, restraining them 
from sin and keeping them in the fear of God. 

The influence of the Sunday-school, too, w'as 
beginning to be felt in the community. The 
children became interested, and they soon 
learned to love their kind instructors. They 
became more orderly, and were less disposed to 
roam about on the Sabbath. Mr. Summerville 
had written back to some of his friends in the 
East, and through their aid, had procured a 
small library, and a pleasant sight it was to see 
those neglected and ill-taught children, seated 
by the wayside, or gathered in groups as they 
walked home, poring over their books instead 
of wandering about, profaning the holy day. 

But a time of calamity was approaching, 
compared with which all the disappointment 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


81 


and toil they had undergone, seemed light. 
During the spring and early part of the sum- 
mer, the rains had been unusually abundant, 
so as at times to threaten serious injury to the 
crops ; but, about the first of July, a drought 
commenced, which continued without a drop 
of rain till the ground was parched and the 
gi’ass burned and blackened almost as if a fire 
had swept over it. The crops failed, and de- 
solation reigned. Even the children learned 
to look every morning for some token of relief, 
but they looked in vain. The same dull, brazen 
hue overspread the sky, and the beams of the 
sun poured down with unmitigated heat. 

To Mr. Summerville the calamity was very 
severe. He had hoped that if he could obtain 
from his fields as abundant a crop as they had 
seemed at first to promise, the worst of his dif- 
ficulties would be over. But his hopes were 
cut off, and poverty, sterner and more severe 
than he had ever felt, seemed inevitable. 

The effect of this terrible season of drought 
was to produce a wide-spread and wasting sick- 
ness. Whole households were stricken down ; 
and, in many instances, every inmate of the 
family was lying helpless, and unable to pro- 
cure a cup of cold water, except as some one 


82 


independence: 


of tlie miserable sufferers crawled from bis bed 
to get it. To obtain help from abroad was al- 
most impossible, as there was scarcely a family 
in which disease and death was not making ra- 
vages. Doubtless many died merely for want 
of proper attention. The poor crops that sur- 
vived the drought stood uncut in very many 
fields because there was no one to gather 
them. The memory of that distressing year 
is still fresh in the minds of all who witnessed 
its desolations throughout the region of coun- 
try where the scene of our story is laid. 

Mr. Summerville’s family, being unaccus- 
tomed to the Western climate, were among the 
severest sufferers. Every member of the house- 
hold was prostrated. The children were all 
seized with the prevalent fever, but Mr. and 
Mrs. Summerville suffered less severely in re- 
spect of bodily ailments. They were able, one 
or the other of them, to keep about, at least for 
a few hours at a time, to wait upon their suffer- 
ing children. 

Nannie’s fever soon assumed a maliixnant 
typhoid form, and though Eichard and Maggie 
were able after a couple of weeks to assist about 
the house, Nannie still lay in a very critical 
condition. The rest of the family forgot their 


83 


/ 


TEUE AND FALSE. 

own sufferings in their solicitude and care for 
the pet of the household. 

Poor Nannie lay in utter unconsciousness, 
while father, mother, brother and sister, by 
turns, watched beside her bed, and bathed her 
burning forehead, or moistened her lips. Nan- 
nie, darling !” was breathed over her many, 
many times, but the drooping eyelids never 
opened unless to show the vacant wildness of 
eyes that saw not the beloved and loving forms 
that bent over her. Every remedy failed, and 
the wild fluttering of the pulse, and the glare 
of the sightless eyeballs were soon lost in the 
icy chill of death. 

Beneath this last severe shock the energies 
of the afflicted household were for a time para- 
lyzed. It seemed to Mr. Summerville almost 
as if he had nothing now to labour for. He 
felt so perfectly crushed by this affliction, and 
so debilitated by his own sufferings, that he 
was almost ready to give up in despair. 

One morning, not long after little Nannie’s 
death, Mr. Summerville took his Bible to con- 
duct their usual family worship. Their course 
of reading brought him that morning to the 
. forty-third chapter of Isaiah. He commenced 
reading: — But now, thus saith the Lord that 


84 


independence: 


created thee, 0 Jacob, and he that formed thee, 

0 Israel, Fear not : for I have redeemed thee, 

1 have called thee by thy name ; thou art 
mine. When thou passest through the waters, 
I will be with thee ; and through the rivers, 
they shall not overflow thee ; when thou walk- 
est through the fire, thou shalt not be burned ; 
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For 
I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, 
thy Saviour.” He could go no farther, but 
bowing his head, he wept. The whole house- 
hold was melted in tears, such as flow from the 
heart when its tenderest feelings are touched, 
and when the fountains of bitter sorrow are 
stirred by the healing branch that God alone 
can cast in. 

From that time, the grief of the afflicted 
family assumed a different character. Not 
that they sorrowed less, but they bowed sub- 
missively to the hand that chastened them, as 
to the hand of a loving father; and, instead of 
being depressed and discouraged, they seemed 
animated to a double diligence, in view of the 
shortness of life, and the necessity of doing 
quickly what they had to do. Diligence in a 
lawful calling was one of the duties which Mr. 
Summerville had always specially impressed 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


85 


upon the minds of -his children, not only that 
they might secure the good things of this life, 
but also that they might be kept from those 
temptations that are sure to beset the idle, and 
that they might redeem time for the reading 
of the Scriptures and prayer, as well as to seek 
opportunities of doing good to their neighbours 
and companions. 

All the members of the family were now able 
to resume their accustomed labour, though they 
were still weak and could do but little. Mr. 
Summerville and Richard went to the fields to 
secure what was left of the summer’s crop, and 
a poor and miserable remnant they found it. 
It soon became evident to Mr. Summerville 
that unless he found some other employment 
for the winter besides the mere care of his farm, 
his family must suffer for the necessaries of 
life. The year they had already spent in the 
West had drawn heavily upon their slender 
resources. As yet, they had received scarce- 
ly any income, and the closest economy had 
been necessary to keep them from actual want. 
But Mr. Summerville’s maxim had not failed 
him ; and he had so far succeeded in meeting 
his adverse circumstances, as to be independ- 
ent of all earthly resources beyond the labour 


8 


86 


independence: 

I 

of himself and his family. The time of sick- 
ness, however, had considerably increased their 
expenses, and now there was no alternative but 
for him ' to leave his family, and go to the 
neighbouring village to procure employment 
for the winter. In the mean time, Richard 
was to be left with the care of things at home ; 
and, as he was now in his fifteenth year, and a 
manly, resolute lad, he might very well be 
trusted. It was a severe trial to Mr. Summer- 
ville to be so long absent from his family, but 
there was no way to avoid it, and he imme- 
diately commenced making the necessary pre- 
parations. He desired to do as much toward 
getting ready for the winter as possible before 
leaving, so as to make the remaining work as 
light as he could for Richard. Many were the 
good talks they had during the few weeks that 
passed. The recent afflictions they had suffered, 
and the straitened circumstances in which they 
were placed, had produced a very marked effect 
upon the mind of Richard. His whole manner 
had become more subdued and quiet, and it was 
evident that his feelings were much softened. 

One day, as Mr. Summerville and Richard 
were husking corn together, Richard suddenly 
exclaimed : — 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


87 


Father, I don’t know how I shall get along 
when you are away.” 

“ Why, iny son ? Do you think the work will 
be too hard for you?” 

‘‘ Oh, no, father ; I wasn’t thinking at all of 
that. I was only thinking how very often you 
have been obliged to remind me of my duties, 
and to point out my faults. I shall have no 
one to do this for me, and I am afraid I shall 
go very far out of the way.” 

“ But it is necessary that you should learn 
self-reliance. No one knows what circum- 
stances may occur by which you may be 
thrown entirely upon yourself; and you have 
reached an age when, if you have any good 
principles or any strength of character, you 
should exercise them.” 

“ But I am afraid to trust myself, father.” 

You know you need not and should not 
trust yourself alone. There is a throne of 
grace where you may always find strength and 
wisdom for every emergency. With faith in 
your heavenly Father, and seeking earnestly 
to know his will, you may safely trust yourself; 
for, even if you should make some mistakes in 
judgment, (which you are very likely to do,) 
God will not suffer you to wander from the 


88 


independence: 


way of duty if you sincerely ask him to direct 
you. It is very important that you should in 
this way learn to rely upon yourself, without 
depending too much upon the advice even of 
your best friends. But you must not misunder- 
stand me. As long as you have parents to 
guide you, you should thank God for it ; but if 
it becomes necessary for you to trust to your- 
self in a great measure, don’t shrink from doing 
so. Still, Avhen I am away, you can go to your 
mother for advice.” 

I shall certainly do that ; hut I have been 
so much with you lately, that it seems more 
natural and easy to go to you. And besides, 
I don’t feel as if mother knew as much of my 
faults as you do.” 

“ That is all true ; but you will be more un- 
der her eye during the winter ; and, if you only 
open your heart to her with confidence, you 
will not miss my counsel so much. There is no 
way in which a good and dutiful son can add 
so much to the happiness of a mother as by 
showing confidence and respect towards her.” 

“ I know it, father. If mother should seem 
unhappy, and I should feel that I had made 
her so, I don’t know what I should do.” 

“You must remember especially her grief on 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


89 


account of little Nannie, and be all the more 
tender and affectionate for that reason. Your 
little sister was a sunbeam in the house, and 
much as we all loved her, no one misses her as 
your mother does.” 

‘‘Oh, father!” said Richard, choking with 
emotion, “you will pray for me, I know you 
will.” 

“Yes, my son, — everyday. And, Richard, 

I shall feel that affliction has indeed been 
sanctified to us, if it leads you to consecrate 
yourself to God, and to enter into covenant 
with him to be his. You may be ever so good 
a boy, and ever so dutiful a son, and yet, with- 
out this, all your goodness will be as nothing in 
the sight of God.” 

“I know it,” said Richard. “And I do 
hope I have given myself to God. I hope I 
am a Christian.” 

Richard had never before expressed such a ‘ 

hope, though he had long felt, at times, that 

his peace was made with God through the blood 

of Christ ; and, since the death of his dear little 

sister, he had, in secret, solemnly dedicated 

himself to his Creator, and sought peace and 

forgiveness through the name of Jesus. He 

had never dared to express this hope, however, 

8 ^ 


90 


independence: 


lest he should, after all, be deceived. But he 
had come to the conclusion that he might feel 
more strength and determination in pursuing a 
Christian course if he should make his feelings 
known to his parents, in order that, in the cha- 
racter of a Christian, he might have their coun- 
sels and their prayers. 

Mr. Summerville had observed a change in 
Richard’s conversation and conduct, and had 
hoped that he had given himself to God; but 
he thought it best to wait till Richard should 
speak to him on the subject. His heart was 
filled with gratitude, when at length this decla- 
ration was made ; and, for a few moments, he 
could only lift his soul in silent thanksgiving to 
the God of all grace for the abundant blessing 
he had bestowed on one over whom so many 
tears had been shed, and for whom so many 
prayers had been offered. 

At length, he laid his hand upon Richard’s 
head, exclaiming, fervently : — “ I would rather 
hear that declaration from your lips, my son, 
than sec you the heir of countless millions. 
May God keep you, and preserve you, and grant 
that this hope may indeed endure unto eternal 
life. But be careful that you do not build 
upon a foundation of sand. There is peculiar 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


91 


danger in a time of affliction of embracing a 
false hope. The grief a person feels on ac- 
count of the affliction, may he mistaken for re- 
pentance ; the emptiness of the world, after an 
object of affection has been removed, may be 
mistaken for a voluntary renouncing of its plea- 
sures, and the craving one feels for comfort, 
makes him ready to grasp the pleasing hope of 
heaven ; when, perhaps, after all, it is only be- 
cause his earthly pleasures have turned to 
ashes. When time has removed the bitterness 
of grief, perhaps things will look differently to 
you.” 

I have thought of that, father, and have 
prayed that I may not be deceived.” 

What was it, Richard, that first turned 
your thoughts to your own salvation ?” 

don’t know,” replied Richard. “I have 
thought more or less about it ever since I can 
remember. I can’t remember a time when you 
had not instructed me about these things.” 

Well, then, why do you think you are a 
Christian? What feelings, or what purposes 
have you, different from those you have always 
had ?” 

‘‘I am sure I enjoy reading the Bible and 
praying more than I ever did before. The Bi- 


92 


independence: 


ble seems precious to me, and when I read it, 
it seems as if it was all addressed to me. And 
besides, I think I have deliberately come to the 
conclusion to serve Christ.” 

“Well, my son, will that save you?” 

“ Oh, no, father. If I should always do my 
best, Christ alone could save me. It seems 
very strange to me that any one can think of 
trusting to his own righteousness. I’m sure a 
person would have to be a great deal better 
than I have ever been, to think of such a thing. 
Why, it seems to me, I have never done a sin- 
gle thing just right yet.” 

“ You never have,” replied Mr. Summerville. 
“ In the sight of a pure and holy God, no 
thought, wmrd, or action, proceeding from a 
heart in which the remains of sin still exist, 
can be holy.” 

“ Then I’m quite sure I have no righteous- 
ness to trust in ; but the righteousness of Christ 
seems perfect. I read, this morning, a verse in 
the Bible that has been in my mind all day : 
it was, ‘ And ye are complete in him !’ When 
I think about all my sins and imperfections, 
that expression, ‘ complete in him,’ seems very 
sweet to me.” 

“ Yes : it is, indeed, a comfort and a hiding- 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


93 


place. I hope you will take that for a motto, 
and whether you feel encouraged or depressed, 
remember that you are ‘ complete in him,’ and 
that without him you are but a withered 
branch.” 

Richard was much better satisfied after he 
knew that his parents were acquainted with his 
state of mind. He felt that he stood in a dif- 
ferent light now, and that their prayers and 
efforts for him would have a more definite ob- 
ject. And they felt very differently towards 
him, too. He was no longer a mere boy, given 
them to be trained for God, but he was a fel- 
low-heir with them of the same promises, and 
partaker of the same hopes. 

The next Monday morning after this conver- 
sation, Mr. Summerville went to the village to 
search for employment. He was skilful, and 
readily found work by which he hoped to keep 
his family in tolerable comfort. It was a sad 
and lonely day when that affectionate house- 
hold was separated. They had never before 
been so situated, and it would be hard to tell 
which suffered most, the father, as he took his 
lonely walk to the village, thinking at every 
step of the dear ones from whom he was be- 
coming an exile, and whom he was leaving 


94 


INDEPENDENCE 


destitute of his protection and care, or the 
family at home, looking forward to the dreary 
winter of his absence. Eut outwardly, at least, 
they were cheerful ; for they had commended 
themselves and each other to the care of their 
heavenly Father, without whose permission 
they knew no trouble could come near their 
dwelling. 



TRUE AND FALSE. 


95 


CHAPTER VII. 

Richard often — very often — experienced the 
truth of what had been said to him about self- 
reliance. Scarcely a day passed that he did 
not need his father’s counsel. He needed it, 
not only that he might learn to lay out his 
work to the best advantage, but still more in 
matters of vital importance. He often wished 
to ask an explanation of some passage of Scrip- 
ture, or to seek direction in some practical 
duty. But his never failing resort was to the 
throne of grace ; and he often experienced the 
illuminating power of the Spirit of God, in 
opening to his mind the sacred truths of Scrip- 
ture and applying them to his heart, to a 
degree which he would not have enjoyed had 
he relied on his father instead of going at once 
to the Fountain of all wisdom. 

So far as it regarded his work, he often 
found that he made for himself a considerable 
portion of labour, which, by more careful 


96 


independence: 


management, he might have avoided. Yet, if 
he was sometimes discouraged, on the whole 
he succeeded admirably; and his mother’s 
smile of approbation was an abundant reward 
for his labour. A more cheerful family could 
scarcely be found ; though their garments 
were coarser and their fare more frugal, and 
their work more toilsome than any to wdiich 
they had ever been accustomed. Richard 
worked manfully. The cattle never wanted 
fodder because he was not ready to give it to 
them ; and his mother never wanted for wood, 
though it w’as no light labour to cut it in the 
forest and draw it to the door-yard. True, 
his hands grew red and rough with toil and 
his face with exposure; and his garments were 
coarse and patched, and one would have had 
trouble to recognise in him the delicate look- 
ing lad that Richard Summerville was in the 
city. But he had been trained to a truth- 
ful and manly mode of thinking that made him 
indifferent to these externals, so long as they 
were necessary accompaniments of honourable 
labour, and he felt that if his mind and heart 
were kept uncorrupt, outward deficiencies could 
be of no real injury. He had learned that 
happiness and true nobility do not depend 











It.., /'V;iT^..; . V '■ . ' 

. r * 

j-.l A.-,. ' -; ,n-i ■- • ■■ \r' -y 

-‘'*'* ■1 v'.*-* ‘ • '■ ' ^*i\ -£ 

iti*,^.iS ' * • » . ■ f fc 

*. »• 



w ft 



' Cl ^ 




-T-rs-’. '; - sBW^r >•.' 1..-Y . -', -1 

^ ,W'- -. 4 , 

- •7- ' V> fir^ 

‘^f. W..ll '.■¥^- • ' 






-» J -.‘M ' 'v fe f>4i.J-.",*J'' 

■^'^Sstif\ # 




■' :-Jt 


.f 






., .. , ;l- ■ ' ' 

*• 'V '' "IgP^ -i ' •■ •'wt' 

l.-f.-j.,i, ■ !*<• Jli^, Va jj % >,. 


flLkA 




V 


U^t 


.0 


is . 1 


4 • l1 



He sat clown upon a log and began to think of his own 
situation. — p. 97. 



TRUE AND FALSE. 


9T 


upon the casual incidents that happen to us on 
our way through life, but on the use we make 
of those incidents, and the impress they leave 
upon the character. 

Richard had been for several days drawing 
wood for his mother, in order that he might get 
a little ahead, so as to gain time for clearing 
a portion of ground which his father wished 
to have ready for cultivation in the spring. 
This was the hardest kind of work he had yet 
attempted. The land was in all its original 
wildness. The thick, tangled undergrowth 
was almost impenetrable, and old, decaying 
logs were lying in every direction ; and, for a 
boy of fifteen to undertake such a piece of 
work single-handed, w’as quite formidable. 

After having worked several days, he could 

scarcely see that he had made any progress : , 

though he had collected two or three enormous 

brush-heaps ready to burn in the spring, yet 

the work advanced so slowly that he felt quite 

discouraged. He sat down upon a log and 

begran to think of his own situation. All his 

hopes and prospects seemed cut off, and he 

felt ready to give up exertion. They had 

been in their new’ home a year, and difficulties 

and trials had thickened around them at every 

9 


98 


INDEPENDENCE: 


step. Although they had all laboured dili- 
gently, yet they did not prosper, and their 
present situation held out little hope for the 
future. 

It had been his cherished desire to obtain an 
education, but how 'was it ever to be accom- 
plished? He could see no possible way, and 
he came to the conclusion that he might as well 
give it up. He was very tired, and, as it was 
near sunset, he shouldered his axe and turned 
his steps toward home. 

After supper, he did not feel at all like 
study ; but it had become so much a habit with 
him that he took down his books, drew up his 
chair, and, resting his elbows on the table, sat 
for a long time seemingly unconscious that his 
books lay unopened before him. After a while 
his mother had the tea-dishes all nicely put 
away, and, getting the work-basket, came and 
sat down opposite to him. She noticed his 
weary look and said in her affectionate way — 

‘‘You look very tired, Richard.” 

“ I am very tired,” said he. 

“ How much have you done to-day ?” asked 
his mother, wishing to divert his thoughts. 

“Not much, mother,” he replied. “Clear- 
ing ground is slow work.” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


99 


“Very slow, I know,” said she. “What 
have you been thinking about that has kept 
you so long from opening your books?” 

“ I was thinking that there’s no use in my 
trying to study. I am always so tired that I 
can scarcely keep awake, and I get along so 
slowly that it’s quite discouraging. It isn’t at 
all likely that I shall ever go through a course 
of study, and I can just be a plain farmer, and 
give up trying to study much.” 

Mrs. Summerville smiled. 

“You think me very short-sighted, I see, 
mother,” continued Richard; “but now I have 
a good common education, and why can’t I get 
along pretty well if I am to be a farmer, as I 
suppose I shall be ?” 

“You know, of course,” replied his mother, 
“ that a certain amount of knowledge is of real 
practical value, even to a farmer ; and I sup- 
pose your idea would be to rest satisfied when 
you have acquired that. I think you had 
better look farther. Who do you suppose is 
likely to secure most enjoyment to himself, — a 
man who has just sufiicient knowledge to carry 
him through his day’s toil, and, when that is 
done, sits down by his fire-side with a mind 
perfectly vacant, except to revolve over and 


100 


independence: 


over his daily work, or one who has sufficient 
knowledge to enjoy books and papers, or even 
reflection and anticipation?” 

Richard’s countenance gradually brightened, 
and he answered her only with a smile. 

‘‘ And then,” continued his mother, “ how 
much more influence a man may exert if his 
mind is so cultivated that his judgment is 
clear, and that he has ability to guide, not 
only his own affairs, but to direct others, too. 
Haven’t men been called from the plough to 
the highest offices of responsibility?” 

Well, mother, I don’t think I’ll ever say 
any thing more about not needing to study 
because I am to be a farmer.” 

‘‘But I haven’t done yet,” said his mother. 
“ Don’t you know it has always been your 
father’s determination that you should be 
thoroughly educated ?” 

“ Yes; but I see no chance for it now.” 

“Neither do I, except just the chance you 
now have of studying at home when your work 
is done. It was just the hope of being better 
able to educate the children that made us will- 
ing to come out here. And we may be able to 
accomplish it yet,” said she, smiling cheerfully, 
“ though at present every thing seems against 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


101 


US. What would your father say, Richard, if 
he knew you were disposed to give up after we 
have made such sacrifices?’^ 

I don’t know, indeed. I hope you won’t 
tell him,” said Richard. “I’m ashamed of 
thinking of such a thing.” 

“And, besides pleasing your father, you 
have a heavenly Father whom you should 
seek still more earnestly to please. It is he 
that has given you your powers of mind ; and, 
if you let them lie idle, and use only the 
strength of your body, you surely will not 
please him.” 

“ Oh, mother, Avhy didn’t I think of that?” 
said Richard, drawing his chair close to her’s, 
and looking up earnestly into her face. “When 
shall I learn to remember that I am not my 
own ?” 

“ It’s a lesson you may study a great while, 
my son, without learning it fully; and, as long 
as there is any sin in you, you will find that 
self likes to govern self. If you entertain the 
hope of a Christian, Richard, you must seek to 
be wholly God’s. You don’t know what God 
may have for you to do yet. You are young, 
and many changes may take place before you 
are a man. You may be called to preach the 


9* 


102 


independence: 


gospel yet, and if you should, you will need a 
well-cultivated and well-balanced mind.” 

‘‘Mother,” said Richard, “do you think 
that is possible ?” 

“ Certainly, it is possible. We cannot under- 
stand the purposes of God. It may be that it 
was to train you for that very work that we 
w^ere brought here. Perhaps if we had stayed 
in the East, you might have become so ab- 
sorbed in study that you would not even have 
given your thoughts to the consideration of re- 
ligion sufficiently to have become a Christian. 
Look back at the way by which the Lord has 
led you, and remember that even afflictions may 
work great good for you and for us all.” 

Richard did not reply, but he and Maggie 
(who had been a silent listener to the conversa- 
tion) took up their books and began to study. 

Mrs. Summerville was not a well-educated ‘ 
woman, according to the common use of the 
phrase, but she possessed good judgment, and 
great tenderness of feeling; and it was this 
that enabled her to retain hei\influence over 
the mind of Richard. She had always been a 
reader, and therefore had clearer and more in- 
telligent views on most subjects than many 
women of hfer class. She had, besides, that 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


103 


clearness of apprehension and enlargement of 
mind which constant familiarity with the things 
of religion is sure to give. The interests of 
the soul, the things of eternity, the building up 
of Christ’s kingdom in the world, are matters 
of such vastness that they cannot be contem- 
plated with that intensity of interest that the 
Christian feels in them without calling out the 
powers of the mind, and greatly enlarging its 
capacity. Another means of intellectual im- 
provement that Mrs. Summerville had enjoyed, 
was access to the best preaching. How power- 
ful a means of improvement this is to the mass 
of the people can be best seen by observing 
those who are deprived of it. 

The considerations Richard’s mother had 
brought to his mind on the subject of study, 
placed the matter in a new light before him, 
and never lost their influence. Through the 
remainder of the winter, he plied his evening 
tasks with great diligence. And, when out at 
his solitary employment in the woods, he often 
thought of the incentives she had placed before 
him. New prospects seemed to open. He 
had supposed that the calamities the family 
had suffered would have quite banished from 
the minds of his parents every thought of at- 


104 


independence: 


tempting to qualify him for any other position 
than such a one as that for which he vainly im- 
agined a good pair of hands and an able body 
were all that -was necessary. Now to think 
that he should have been the first to give up, 
was quite mortifying. But (as it often hap- 
pens) his feeling of shame for his own irresolu- 
tion, was a powerful agent in making him more 
resolute for the future. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Summerville pursued his la- 
bour in town. But it was a weary, weary life he 
was living. He was still oppressed with w^eak- 
ness and langour, resulting from his sickness ; 
and, severed as he was from the sympathies 
and comforts of home, it was very hard to bear. 
His board — if board it could be called that was 
destitute of every comfort — was of the plainest 
and coarsest kind, and quite different in quality 
from any thing to which he had ever been ac- 
customed. One of the greatest trials to the 
family at home was to notice his miserably 
enfeebled appearance when he visited them. 
Bichard especially felt it, and heartily wished 
he could go and take his father’s place. But 
that would not answer, for his earnings would 
have done but little toward supporting the 
family. Every thought of his father strength- 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


105 


ened his own resolution, and animated him 
with new energy in his work, and he delighted 
to keep things so in order, that whenever his 
father was at home, he might feel that every 
thing was going on right, and be relieved from 
all care. 

^ The closest economy w'as practised in order 
to make the most of the earnings of Mr. Sum- 
merville. It was necessary that they should 
not only supply the wants of the family from 
day to day, but that they should also suffice for 
them after he should return to the cultivation 
of his farm in the spring till they might be 
able to depend upon its produce for subsistence. 
Economy and diligence, however, insured suc- 
cess ; and, amidst all their discomforts and in- 
conveniences, the time of Mr. Summerville’s 
exile from home slipped away more rapidly 
than they had anticipated, and at length drew 
near its termination. The last week came, and 
on the next Saturday night he was to come 
home, and not to leave again. Maggie ran 
many times to the gate to look down the road 
and see if he w'as coming. He did come at 
last, and deep and heartfelt were the thanks- 
givings that rose from the family altar that 
night. 


106 


INDEPEN D ENCE: 


Mr. Summerville was greatly pleased with 
the improvement Kichard had made during the 
winter, as well as with his diligence in labour. 
Not only had he kept things in excellent order 
about the farm, but he had also succeeded in 
his attempt at clearing, so that another field of 
considerable size was added to the ground they 
had to cultivate. Mr. Summerville found Rich- 
ard a much more efiicient helper than he had 
been before. He had become far more inde- 
pendent so far as work was concerned, and had 
fully proved the truth of what his father had 
taught him about the necessity of self-reliance 
in order to bring out his character, and give 
him a true and manly independence in respect 
to outward circumstances. 

But this kind of independence, though very 
important in order to secure success in matters 
of business, is, after all, (as Mr. Summerville 
had often taught Richard,) not the most im- 
portant kind. There is a strength and manli- 
ness of character far more important. It is 
that which relates to the affiiirs of the soul. It 
is quite possible to put in peril the interests of 
immortality by mere indolence, by mere want 
of that energy and decision of character which 
every one can see to be necessary in relation to 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


107 


the affairs of this life. It was in respect to 
th ese things that Mr. Summerville felt the 
greatest anxiety. All the improvements he 
saw in Richard’s manner of working would 
have given him but little pleasure if he had 
made no progress in divine things, and in 
the cultivation of an upright and energetic 
Christian character. 

As to this point, Richard’s conduct soon sa- 
tisfied him. There was such an evident spirit 
of love in all he did, so much self-sacrifice, such 
tender devotion to his mother and kindness to 
his sister, as could only spring from a renewed 
heart. It was often at no small sacrifice of 
personal comfort that he performed some ser- 
vice for his mother, or assisted Maggie with 
her lessons after a hard day’s work in the field. 
Yet Richard was not naturally any better than 
other boys ; and, if he was better now, it was 
only because of the grace of God that liad been 
given him in answer to his fervent prayers, and 
because of the struggles he had maintained in 
the strength of God against his sins. By such 
means he was daily growing in grace, as well 
as in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, 
Jesus Christ. 

But we cannot dwell minutely either upon 


108 


independence: 


the details of domestic life, or the progress of 
parental instruction. We must hasten through 
the summer, which proved to be one of consider- 
able prosperity. The crops were abundant, 
and the health of the community good. Mr. 
Summerville now began to feel relieved from 
the pressure of poverty ; and, by the time he 
had disposed of the produce of his farm, he 
w^as able to lay aside something towards the 
first payment for it, and he could look forward 
with very reasonable hopes that, before many 
years, the farm would be his own. The land 
was very productive, notwithstanding the miser- 
able condition in which he had found the place ; 
and, when the rich soil, that was still covered 
for the most part with its native growth of tim- 
ber, should be cleared and put under cultiva- 
tion, an ordinary degree of prosperity would 
soon place him in easy circumstances, though 
it would require not a little hard labour to 
bring all this about. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


109 - 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Passing over an interval of three years, we 
shall find some changes have taken place. 

We wdll, for a few moments, leave the Sum- 
mervilles, and look at the neighbouring farm. 
The paint upon the house is still rusty and 
worn. The steps that go up to the front porch 
are not yet mended, and, of course, three years 
have not at all improved their condition. Here 
and there even a bundle of rags has taken the 
place of window glass. The fences are thrown 
down, and cattle and horses roam unchecked 
wherever they please. But Walter’s pony is 
not among them, nor is Walter himself to be 
seen. Mr. Lee no longer sits in the porch, 
smoking his pipe. There are strange faces 
and uncouth forms moving about, and every 
thing looks desolate in the extreme. The 
story is a short and a sad one. Mr. Lee 
sleeps his last sleep. His body has been com- 
mitted to the dust, and his spirit has returned 
to God who gave it. 


10 


110 


independence: 


Mrs. Lee could no longer remain on the 
farm after her husband’s death ; for, though 
Walter had nearly reached the age of man- 
hood, she had no one upon whom she could de- 
pend to supply her with the common comforts 
of life. For this reason, she sold the estate ; at 
which step Walter became so enraged that he 
forsook his mother, leaving his curses upon her 
head, and went away. Mrs. Lee removed to 
the neighbouring village, where she inhabited 
a small and mean abode, and where grief and 
misery are fast doing their work upon her 
broken and enfeebled constitution. With the 
family who took their farm we have no con- 
cern. The condition of the place tells all w’e 
wish to know of their character. 

But we will follow Walter. Like the prodi- 
gal of old, he had taken the portion of goods 
that fell to him, though he was still several 
years in his minority, and gone to a distant 
place where he had professed to enter upon a 
course of study, preparatory to a collegiate 
and professional life. He had never con- 
sidered that any thing could happen to inter- 
fere with his becoming proprietor of his fa- 
ther’s valuable estate, where he expected to 
live upon the labour of others,'and pass his time 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


Ill 


in idleness. Now that this prospect was cut 
off, he resolved, at all hazards, to be a gentle- 
man, (using the word according to his idea of 
it :) and to prepare himself for the legal profes- 
sion, seemed to him the surest way of attaining 
this end. 

So* he entered the preparatory school. He 
carried with him the same insolent manner 
that had grown upon him from his childhood, 
and resolved, from the first day, that he would 
shoAV himself an independent fellow. How he 
succeeded in his attempt to lord it over his 
companions, it is not worth while to tell ; but it 
is certain that he found some who were quite as 
independent as himself, and many who were 
quite ready to laugh at his arrogance, as well 
as at his ignorance. 

It was not long before he came into collision 
with his preceptor, and, rather than submit, he 
left the school. And here we take leave of 
him. It would be easy to trace his downward 
progress from this point. Yet he is an inde- 
pendent fellow in some respects ; let us give 
him due credit. He has put away the re- 
straints of order and goodness ; such restraints 
as keep the angels in their bright homes. He 
has renounced the feai\of God and man. He 


112 


independence: 


has followed the impulses of his own will, cor- 
rupt and misguided as it is. In a word, he has 
done as he pleased, and must now reap the 
reward. 

And now let us return to the Summervilles. 
They still inhabit the log cabin ; but how 
changed is its appearance. There is a garden 
of flowers in front, laid out tastefully and deco- 
rated with trees and shrubs that have begun to 
thrive and bloom beautifully. There are taste- 
ful trellises made by Richard’s own hand, over 
which vines climb, and twining roses droop 
with their fragrant wealth of blossoms. The 
cabin itself is half concealed with honeysuckle 
and sweet brier, and looks like the abode of 
happiness, taste and comfort. A neat paling 
separates the flower garden from the vegetable 
garden, over which may be seen the well-kept 
walks, and smooth beds and tasteful arrange- 
ment of its products, betokening the hand of 
industry and care. 

Within the dwelling, every thing bears the 
same impress. It is a log cabin still, it is true, 
but it is a model of its kind. There is a beau- 
tiful girlish form moving about, just adding the 
last touches to the well-spread tea-table, and 
occasionally looking out at the open door. The 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


113 


face is surely Maggie’s, the same SAveetness of 
expression, the same loving eyes ; but it is no 
longer little Maggie. She is sixteen noAv, and 
they are her hands that keep every thing in 
such order. They are neither Avhite nor deli- 
cate, it is true, but they are hands that have 
done something. It is Maggie that steps in be- 
tween her mother and all the laborious details 
of domestic labour. It is she that keeps the 
shrubbery trimmed, and the vines trained, and 
Avatches every opening bud, and slips off every 
decaying leaf. 

And noAV they have come. The father and 
brother open the gate and enter the Avalk. Rich- 
ard has grown nearly to the stature of manhood 
and is no longer a boy, but a youth of eighteen. 

Tea is soon over, and the tea things put 
aAvay, and Maggie takes her Avater-pot and 
goes out among her floAvers. Richard follows 
her, and they AA'ander about, lifting here a 
stray branch, and there lopping off a superflu- 
ous limb ; stopping noAV to inhale the breath of 
the roses, and then stooping to admire some 
delicate, half- concealed beauty near the ground. 
Richard is unusually silent, but Maggie talks 
cheerfully and laughs gayly. At length, they 

have reached a corner of the garden where 

10 * 


114 


INDEPENDENCE. 


Richard has made seats under the shade of an 
ancient tree. 

Come here, Maggie,” said he, “ and sit down 
a while.” 

‘‘Why, Richard, what is the matter?” said 
Maggie, noticing for the first time his un- 
usually grave look. 

“ I have something to tell you.” 

“ Nothing bad, I hope,” said she, — half 
alarmed by his serious manner. 

“Nothing bad, Maggie; but yet it is some- 
thing that may make you feel bad. I am 
going to leave home.” 

“ Oh, Richard ! Leave home — did you say ? 
What for ?” 

“I am going to school.” 

“ Then you will be gone a long time ?” 

“ Yes, Maggie. I don’t suppose I shall ever 
come home to stay. I shall be only a visiter 
when I come again.” 

“We can’t do without you, indeed we can- 
not,” said Maggie, bursting into tears. “You 
must not go.” 

“ Think, Maggie. I haven’t told you all yet. 
You should not feel so.” 

“It is selfish, I know, Richard; but how can 
I do without you ? You are the only com- 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


115 


panion I have. And yet it will be for your 
good, and I ought to he glad you are going. 
When did you conclude to go 

Only to-day. Father and I have been 
talking it over, and the matter is all settled. I 
am to go in about a month.” 

So soon ? But why don’t you expect ever 
to live at home again ? Won’t you come here 
when you are through school?” 

I will tell you all about it. Do you re- 
member one evening a great while ago, that 
winter that father was away, my talking with 
mother about giving up trying to study ?” 

‘‘Yes : I remember it very well.” 

“ Do you remember mother’s saying that I 
did not know what I might be yet, and that I 
might be a minister of the gospel ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, that idea never has left me. It has 
been uppermost in my mind ever since. I have 
studied and worked with that view, and won- 
dered and wondered whether it ever could be. 
I didn’t see how it was possible for me to go 
away from home. To-day father called me, 
and I sat on a log by him, and then he pro- 
posed that I should go away to school. I told 
him I could not go, for he could not do the work 


116 


independence: 


alone, but he said he could find some one to 
help him when he needed help, and that he 
was anxious to have me go. It came into my 
mind at once that it was my duty to go, and 
that it might open the way for me to be a min- 
ister of the gospel. So I told father that that 
had been on my mind for a long time, and he 
seemed greatly pleased, and said he would 
rather see me that than any thing else in the 
world. He told me, too, and isn’t it singular, 
Maggie ? that he and mother had often talked 
about it, and prayed that the way might be 
opened for me; and yet they never urged it 
upon me, because they wanted me to be guided 
by my own feelings of duty.” 

^‘But how can mother let you go?” said 
Maggie. 

“I know it will be a trial to her, but she 
would very cheerfully give me up for such a 
service.” ) 

So you go in a month ! And how long 
will it be before you get through studying?” 

“ Oh, seven or eight years, I suppose. I 
shall have to begin pretty low down, you know, 
Maggie ; but I would cheerfully labour many 
years, if I thought I could at last be made use- 
ful in building up the kingdom of Christ.” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


117 


Richard felt that his reasons did not come 
with their full force to his sister’s heart. Mag- 
gie had not yet given herself to the Saviour, and 
she could not appreciate the ardour with which 
a soul that truly loves him, can devote itself 
to the work of building up his church on earth. 

Richard drew nearer his sister, and taking 
her hand in his own, said : — 

“ Dear sister, I wish you felt these things as 
I do.” 

I wish so too, Richard,” she replied. 
could bear to have you go then.” 

Is that all that makes you wish so ?” 

“ No. I do wish I was a Christian. I have 
often wished so. I know that any one who has 
been so well taught as I have, is very deeply 
guilty if she is not a Christian.” 

“ Oh, sister, do not he satisfied with wishing. 
Strive earnestly. Ask to be taught by the 
Divine Spirit. There is no other way to secure 
salvation. If I could only tell you how blessed 
it is to love Christ, I know you would desire 
it above all things. But you cannot know any 
thing about the love of Christ till you feel it.” 

I will!” she exclaimed fervently. “ I will 
try to seek Christ.” 

The night dews were beginning to fall, and 


118 


independence: 


Richard led his sister into the house. There 
were traces of tears on his mother’s face, and 
the quietness and tenderness of the family to- 
ward each other showed that their thoughts 
were all centered on the one dear object of affec- 
tion that was so soon to be removed from them. 

Richard sought the earliest opportunity of 
conversation Avith his mother, and found, as he 
believed, that, Avhile it was at a great sacri- 
fice of her personal feelings and pleasures that 
she could consent to his separation from them, 
she joyfully gave him up to the w'ork to which 
she believed the Master had called him. 

During the four weeks that intervened be- 
tween this conversation and his departure, 
Richard applied himself diligently to labour. 
The thought Avould often come into his mind 
with overwhelming power, that the time Avas 
so near Avhen he must leave his beloved home, 
his parents and sister, and be throAvn upon 
his OAAm resources of wisdom and energy, in 
the management of his affairs. And then, 
too, to think that he should probably never re- 
turn, except for a feAv weeks, but should pass 
on from school to college, and from college to 
the seminary, and then, and then — what then? 
He kneAv not. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


119 


Mrs. Summerville and Maggie plied their 
needles, sometimes in silence, and sometimes, it 
may be, in tears — but Maggie was very thought- 
ful. Her brother’s conversation had an effect 
upon her mind, and she could not, if she had 
chosen, rid herself of the sense of oblicration 
that rested upon her, in consequence of her so- 
lemn promise to him. And she did not ;wish 
to rid herself of it. She chose rather to cher- 
ish it, and it was just this, under the power of 
God’s Spirit, that finally brought her, in peni- 
tence and faith, to the foot of the cross. 

The labour of love was at last completed, 
and Richard Summerville bade farewell to the 
cherishing and nourishing influences of home. 
It is difficult to appreciate the situation of the 
Summerville family, unless one has been placed 
in similar circumstances. How the domestic 
endearments strengthen and become concen- 
trated in such a situation of loneliness must 
be felt, to be fully known. To be so entirely 
cut off from social intercourse, and thrown upon 
each other for society, cannot but have the 
effect to strengthen all the domestic affections 
in a family where such affections are properly 
felt and cherished. And then, to pass through 
scenes of affliction together, to feel together 


120 


independence: 


the heart-throbbings of anguish under some 
common bereavement, or some sore calamity, 
forms a powerful bond of union between those 
that are sheltered by the same roof. And still 
more, the instructions and heavenly influences 
of a Christian home, give strength to the ties 
that bind each member of the household to the 
other. It need not be thought strange if Rich- 
ard’s departure revived the grief of those that 
were left, for the lost lamb of the flock, — the 
dear little Nannie. Maggie especially was al- 
most inconsolable. Her sole companion was 
removed, and she wandered among her flowers 
and shrubs in her hours of leisure, looking sad 
and listless as though all her interest in them 
was gone. This, however, was but temporary. 
lYith that elasticity of spirits which our Creator 
has so kindly bestowed upon the young, she re- 
gained her cheerfulness, and resumed her ac- 
tivity. She still felt lonely, but she strove to 
be cheerful for her parents’ sake. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


121 


CHAPTER IX. 

As Richard is the subject of our story, we 
must now leave the log cabin, and follow him, 
though it would be far more agreeable to linger 
about the new premises and watch the improve- 
ments that go on year after year. There is 
much to nourish true poetic feeling in watching 
the progress of a Western home under the di- 
rection of taste, energy, and domestic love. 
There is much to keep up a pleasing excite- 
ment of mind in tracing the planting, spring- 
ing up and maturing of civilized and cultivated 
life, on the black soil where the decaying 
leaves of centuries have lain undisturbed, and 
amid the impenetrable thickets of the primeval 
forest where a home has never before been 
reared. We soon learn to feel interested in that 
circle whose home shows such an appreciation 
of true domestic happiness as we have seen in 
the Summervilles, and as may be seen in the 
progress of many a household in the wide 


122 


independence: 


West. We leave them with regret, but we 
shall visit them again. 

Richard’s feelings were a strange compound 
of pleasure and pain ; and, as the lumbering 
stage-coach toiled over the rough road, you 
might almost read his thoughts in the varying 
expression of his countenance. Now his affec- 
tions travel back to the home circle, and he 
wonders what they are doing, and hoAV his 
father gets along with his work, and we sympa- 
thize with the painful feelings that almost 
gain the mastery over him, as he remembers 
that his course of life runs no longer parallel 
with that of the dear ones with whom he has 
been so closely identified. Now he looks for- 
w^ard, and his eye brightens with the buoyancy 
of hope, and his cheek glows with the ardour 
of a noble devotion, as he remembers the work 
to which he feels he has been separated. ‘ 

A few days of travel bring him to his new 
abode. He has seen but little of the world, 
and been but little accustomed to intercourse 
with strangers ; and it is not to be wondered at 
if he feels some trepidation as he walks from 
the village tavern where the stage has left him, 
to seek further direction from the principal of 
the academy, whom he knows only by name. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


123 


The arrangement made at home, had been 
that Mr. Summerville should bear Richard’s 
expenses entirely. This he was now pretty 
w^ell able to do, and Richard had consented 
that it should be so, yet he did not intend that 
it should be necessary. He knew that even if 
his father could pay his board without any real 
sacrifice of comfort to the family, yet that 
amount of money would be of great service to 
him in making out his payments for the farm. 
He therefore resolved from the first that he 
would make every effort to bear that burden 
himself, though he said nothing about it to his 
father. This he felt was but an application of 
the maxim his father had taught him years 
ago, that the only way to be independent of 
circumstances is to conquer them, and he now 
felt the need of all his father’s instruction, to 
sustain him in a course of true and and manly 
independence. 

With the assistance of his preceptor, he 
found a place where he could pay his own 
board by doing light labour about the house. 
It seemed light labour to him to have nothing 
to do but cut wood and attend to the cow, for 
he had been used to hard wmrk, and he knew it 
would be much better for him to have some ex- 


124 


independence: 


ercise of that kind than to pass at once from 
laborious, out-door work, to close confinement 
and study. It was with much pleasure that he 
communicated to his father the result of his 
efforts, and he felt that satisfaction that always 
accompanies the consciousness of being able to 
provide for one’s own wants, without looking to 
any earthly source beyond ones-self. 

Richard was not long in finding that he had 
many difficulties to contend with, and that it 
would require the exercise of all his resolution, 
strengthened as it had been by his early train- 
ing, to sustain him. He felt, above all, the 
need of divine grace to teach and to uphold 
him, that he might be kept from the ways of 
evil, and from the corruptions of his own heart. 
The circumstances of his life so far had kept in 
constant exercise that kind of independence 
which overmasters poverty and adversity ; but 
although his father had taught him the necessi- 
ty of cultivating that inner strength which 
would enable him to resist temptation from evil 
example, as well as from the corrupt inclina- 
tions of his own sinful nature, yet he had never 
been tried very severely by such temptations. 
But he found now that these trials were to 
come upon him, and that much effort would be 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


125 


necessary to maintain an independent virtuous 
course. He felt still more deeply his need of 
grace and wisdom from above, that, while he 
strove to resist adverse influences from without 
and the struggles of sin within, he might at all 
times feel his entire dependence upon God. 

He had been obliged (as he had told Maggie 
he should) to begin low down in his course of 
study, in consequence of his previous limited 
advantages; and this, together with his rather 
unpolished appearance, rendered him in some 
degree, an object of ridicule with a certain 
class of his fellow-students. There are always 
some to be found in a school who are ready to 
judge of the worth of another upon such slight 
grounds as these ; and who, mean and con- 
temptible as their judgments are, have it in 
their power to make the situation of a com- 
panion very uncomfortable. 

Hichard’s intellect was not brilliant. He 

was not one of those who tread the path of 

learning without effort, and to whose quick- 

sighted genius science offers no intricacies; 

but whatever he acquired, must be done by 

the long-continued effort of patient industry; 

and therefore he often found himself ranking 

below those who, he knew, neither laboured so 

11 * 


126 


independence: 


faithfully, nor mastered so fully their allotted 
tasks as he did, and the ranklings of mortified 
pride though he had never known such a feel- 
ing before, often gave him much pain and 
trouble. 

There was one of Richard’s fellow-students 
who, from first acquaintance, pleased him ex- 
ceedingly. There was a certain kindliness of 
manner, and open-hearted frankness about him, 
that gained at once the confidence and affection 
of all. It so happened that the boarding-place 
of this young man was near Richard’s, so that 
they were likely to be thrown much together, 
and they soon became pretty well acquainted. 

George Hastings was the son of wealthy pa- 
rents, and had been brought up in such a man- 
ner as never to feel the necessity of self-de- 
pendence as to outward things, nor had he been 
taught his dependence upon Him who is the 
source of all wisdom and goodness in matters 
of deeper and more vital imjDortance. He had, 
however, a good mind, and possessed that kind 
of penetration which enables one to discern 
good mental qualities in others, even when con- 
cealed by timidity, or by rusticity of manner. 
He saw that Richard possessed a sound judg- 
ment, and that he was controlled by firm princi- 


\ 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


127 


pies that kept him in a straight-forward and 
even course, and he respected him for it. He 
saw also that Richard was not appreciated by 
his fellow-students, and a certain sense of ho- 
nour and justice, made him throw all his influ- 
ence in Richard’s favour. 

Richard had not been long in school before 
he found his situation becoming more pleasant, 
and he was able to trace the increased favour 
with which he was regarded, to George Has- 
tings. He felt grateful to him, and at once re- 
garded him as a true friend. 

Before noting the progress of this friendship 
between the two young men, it may be well to 
look in upon Richard at home. He soon found 
that the difficulties of Christian watchfulness 
vary greatly in different situations. To guard 
against the power of sin at home, where he 
was surrounded with every favouring influence, 
and where there was scarcely a temptation to 
be met, was quite a different thing from keep- 
ing up the same vigilance when those favour- 
ing influences "were removed ; and when alone 
and unaided by any earthly counsellor, temp- 
tations of various kinds were to be vanquished, 
and annoyances and difficulties were things of 
almost hourly occurrence. 


128 


independence: 


The family with whom he had taken up his 
abode, was not a Christian family. No incense 
ascended from the domestic altar morning and 
eveninir. The multitude of God’s mercies 
were unacknowledged ; the threatenings of his 
wrath were not feared; his protection and love 
were unsought. This deficiency Richard could 
supply, so far as his own spiritual necessities 
were concerned, but it was not so easy to 
screen himself from other difiiculties which 
might have been averted had the family been 
under the control of religion, and had their 
house been a house of prayer. 

We find him then destitute of controlling 
religious influences ; and, in the cultivation of 
his Christian character, thrown upon himself 
and God alone. True, letters often came from 
home, and they were always filled with counsel 
from his revered parents ; but, separated as 
they were, and unacquainted with all the 
details of his every day life, their advice could 
not always be well adapted, nor could it be 
such as to meet every emergency. 

Without congenial society at home, it was 
very natural that Richard should find much 
pleasure in the company of George Hastings. 
Richard and George studied together, walked 


129 


TRUE AND FALSE. 

» 

together, spent their hours of recreation 

together, and had they but prayed together, 

all would have been well enough — but George 

Hastings never prayed. 

One of their leisure afternoons they had 
agreed to spend together in fishing. There 
was a beautiful, quiet and retired spot where 
the hoys of the academy were often to be 
found enjoying this sport ; and on this after- 
noon we shall find George and Richard seated 
together on the margin of the clear water, 
patiently holding their fishing poles, and now 
and then throwing upon the grass the fruits of 
their toil or skill. They w^ere very successful ; 
and, having caught as many fish as they cared 
to carry home, they gathered up their appa- 
ratus and were preparing to return. 

They had every thing ready, when Richard 
turned and found George standing by the 
margin of the water, gazing into its clear 
depths and apparently absorbed in thought. 
After a moment, he stepped back and threw 
himself upon the grass with an impatient and 
desponding, ‘‘ Heigh ho !” 

‘AVhy, what has happened, George?” said 
Richard. 

‘‘Nothing. I was just thinking.” 


130 


independence: 


Yes, — I knew you were thinking, but what 
about?” 

‘‘That’s the question,” replied George. “I 
hardly know myself, what about. Perhaps I 
might better say I was wondering than think- 

• 99 

ing. 

“ Well, then, what were you wondering 
about ?” 

“ I was thinking how easily I might plunge 
into that water, and how quickly life would be 
quenched; and I was wmndering what then ?” 

“ Have you never learned from the Bible 
ho^v to answer that question?” 

“ Yes, — in a general way ; but it seems 
easier to dream and wonder than it does to 
apply Bible truth to one’s own case.” 

“No doubt it is easier, but is it as safe ?” 

“I suppose not,” replied George with care- 
less indifference. 

“Why, don’t you know that nothing else can 
guide us through life, or fit us for eternity?” 

“ It was about eternity I was just wonder- 
ing. As to this life, I have not quite made 
up my mind what is the best course. I haven’t 
much fear about that,” said he, laughing. 

“ George,” replied Richard, earnestly, “ this 
is not a subject to be treated lightly. I tell 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


131 


you, as long as you are indifferent to the 
truths of the Bible, you have nothing upon 
■which you can place any sure hopes, either for 
this life or for that which is to come.” 

Why, my father has always made out very 
well, and yet I never heard him say a syllable 
about the Bible.” 

‘‘ But look within yourself, George. Let me 
ask you one question. Are you satisfied?” 

‘‘ Satisfied ! With what?” 

With any thing. With your present posi- 
tion or attainments, or prospects, or with your- 
self?” 

‘‘No; indeed I am not,” replied George, — 
laying aside his assumed indifference, and 
speaking as if he meant what he said. 

“ Do you ever expect to be satisfied?” con- 
tinued Richard. 

“ Yes, some time, when I have accomplished 
'my purposes. I am determined to reach a 
high position ; and when I have attained that, I 
think I shall be satisfied.” 

“ Do you think so,” said Richard, seriously. 
“Well, suppose you will be satisfied then — are 
you sure of reaching that position ?” 

“ I suppose not ; but then it is my belief 
that perseverance can overcome almost any 


182 


independence: 


obstacle, and energy can place a person in 
almost any situation he may choose.” 

“ If you observe carefully, you will find you 
are mistaken. Circumstances, wholly unlooked 
for, may overwhelm your best laid schemes 
and wither all your hopes ; and it is only when 
a person learns to recognise the overruling 
hand of Providence in all the events of life, 
and to extract from them the best lessons of 
patience and hope, and whatever else God may 
design to teach him, that he is truly independ- 
ent of adverse circumstances. Such a person 
may be sure of attaining his end ; for every 
event of his life is ordered by Providence for 
the fulfilment of that end, -which is the forma- 
tion of a well-developed Christian character. 
If wealth will favour that end, God will give 
wealth ; but if poverty, then God will give it. 
But oh, how much study and how much faith it 
requires to understand such discipline, and re- 
ceive all with the meekness of a little child. 
But I fear, George, if your plans are formed 
without reference to the teachings of the Bible, 
you will find, sooner or later, that the God of 
providence can thwart you in more ways than 
you can conceive ; or else you will find, that, 
wdiile he gives you the desire of your heart, 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


133 


your soul will perish under the fearful penalty 
of eternal death.” 

Richard paused, wondering at the length to 
which his excited feelings had carried him. 
He looked into the face of his companion, ex- 
pecting to see there the expression of half-con- 
cealed scorn, at least, if not to he met with 
words of ridicule. But he was mistaken. The 
quiet of the place, the calm hush of nature, 
the placid water, the solitude, the reflections 
into which they had fallen, all conspired to add 
power to Richard’s words ; and George, so far 
from scorning the truths he had uttered, w'as 
listening to the echoes of his own heart, which 
responded to their utterance. 

Richard had paused some moments, hut 
George did not answer. He felt encouraged 
to go further and asked — 

“What if you should succeed to the full 
measure of your highest hopes, do you feel 
sure that you would then be satisfied ?” 

“ I don’t know. I have not tried it.” 

“ But you have tried some things, and some 
/ things, too, that once appeared as bright and 
inviting as the career of manhood now does ; 
and I know I should be safe in saying that 

you have been disappointed.” 

12 


134 


independence: 


Yes : I have been.” 

“ And you will always find it so. That 
which you most depend upon Avill turn to 
ashes in your grasp, if you live for this life 
only.” 

Why, how do you know ? You are not 
much older than I am.” 

I know because the Bible teaches me so, 
and because I have found even by my own brief 
experience, how much higher and more satis- 
fying even earthly hopes and plans become 
when formed under the influence of the gospel. 
There is another thing to be considered, though, 
which you know as well as I. That is, that 
death may cut off all your hopes long before 
they are realized. No one can help thinking, 
sometimes, of the nearness of death.” 

“I suppose not,” replied George, with half a 
sigh ; at least, I can't. I do think, Richard, 
— though, perhaps, you would suppose I never 
did.” 

“ But your thinking will he all to no purpose 
unless you have knowledge to guide you ; and 
that knowledge you will find only in the Bible.” 

^‘Well, moybe you are right; but I have 
always had a notion that, if a person thinks so 
much about death and eternity, he must make 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


135 


up liis mind to sacrifice all the interests of the 
present life ; and I am afraid I couldn’t do 
that.” 

Your notion is altogether a mistaken one. 
The Bible says, ^ Godliness is profitable unto 
all things, having promise of the life that now 
is, and of that which is to come.’ The inter- 
ests of the present life are looked upon in a 
different light, and often that which other 
people regard as of the first importance, sinks 
to a much lower place in the estimation of a 
Christian. And, after all, no one enjoys so 
much of the good things of this life as a Chris- 
tian may.” 

“That isn’t according to my idea,” replied 
George. “ I’m sure if I were a Christian, I 
could not be half so eager in the pursuit of 
pleasure, ease and honour as I could other- 
wise be.” 

“Are those the only good things of this 
life ? What is to be said of those dispositions 
of heart the Bible commends, together with 
peace of conscience and the hope of eternal 
life ? My father has always taught me that 
these are, in reality, the good things of this 
life, and we have God's promise that if we 
seek first these things, all other things will be 


136 


independence: 


added unto us. His promise is a far more 
sure dependence than all your perseverance 
and energy can ever be.” 

These were considerations that had never 
before been pressed upon the mind of George 
Hastings, and, for a time, they seemed to have 
some force. But all his early training had 
been directed to produce an entirely different 
state of mind, and the power of his old habits 
of thinking soon returned. He looked for- 
ward to the brilliant career for which his 
talents fitted him, and for which his father had 
carefully nursed his ambition and pride, and the 
crown beyond the grave seemed dim in com- 
parison with that earthly crown of honour he 
hoped and aspired to wear ; dim — because he 
had not the eye of faith with which to discern 
its ineffable brightness. 

After a long silence, during which both the 
young men had been pursuing their own 
meditations, George exclaimed — 

I’m afraid I cannot go along with you, 
Richard, — at least, not quite yet. I should 
have to change the whole plan and purpose of 
my life.” 

“ Might you not better change it, if you 
have not chosen the best course ?” 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


137 


“You must first convince me that I have 
not,” said George, rising and taking up his 
fishing implements. 

The two young men went home, and Richard 
sat down in his room alone. His thoughts 
turned to his friend ; and earnest desires were 
awakened that George might be brought to a 
knowledge of the truth, and be enabled to 
judge rightly as to his best interests, and to 
apply himself diligently to secure them. He 
resolved to endeavour to induce George to 
read the Bible with him. The next time they 
met, he proposed such a course of reading, and 
obtained a reluctant consent. They sat down 
together, and Richard read and re-read, select- 
ing those passages that always had the most 
influence upon his own mind ; but found, to his 
sorrow, that the only result seemed to be that 
George was becoming intellectually acquainted 
with the contents of the sacred volume, and he 
w'as forced to feel that, as the Scriptures say, 
“ The carnal mind is enmity against God.” 

Richard’s efforts and prayers for the con- 
version of his friend, might be considered as 
the commencement of his labour of preaching 
the gospel. There are other methods of 
preaching Christ besides in sermons ; and the 


138 


INDEPEND ENCE: 


force of example and conversation, accompa- 
nied with secret prayer, is probably among 
the most efficient of all methods. His time was 
much occupied with his daily duties, and his 
deep interest for his friend filled up many of 
his leisure moments. If, now and then, his 
heart travelled back to the log cabin where he 
had lived so happy a life, and if he sighed for its 
religious influence and its quiet domestic love, 
yet the sadness was quickly dissipated by turn- 
ing his thoughts to the great interests of his 
present life, and he betook himself to the 
earnest discharge of duty. 

His labour of love for his friend, was not 
without effect. The seed of the kingdom, sown 
bountifully and watered with the dews of 
heavenly grace, at length sprung up ; and, 
about the commencement of the second year 
of his student-life, he enjoyed the blessed satis- 
faction of seeing George sit beside him at the 
table of their common Lord! From that time, 
their friendship for each other was founded 
upon a different basis. Their hopes and pur- 
suits and experience were one; and many a 
time Richard felt himself greatly stimulated to 
Christian duty by the ardour of his companion. 

Richard hoped from the time that George 


TRiJE AND FALSE. 


139 


first declared his purpose to serve the Lord, 
that he would choose to serve him in the 
ministry. After a few months had passed and 
George still continued steadfast, Richard pro- 
posed the subject to him, and found that it had 
already been upon his mind. George wrote to 
his parents, begging them to sanction his 
wishes, but was met with a decided refusal. 
He was their eldest son, and his father had 
looked forward to the time when he would take 
a distinguished place in the literary world, or 
the world of wealth, (he cared little which ;) 
but that George should become a minister — he 
could never consent to that I 

Mr. Hastings viewed things only in the 
light of this world. He wrote a long and kind 
letter to George, setting forth the difiiculties he 
would have to contend with ; which, indeed, 
in days of worldliness and spiritual deadness 
among Christ’s people, are neither few nor 
small. 

It is well for the church that, while many 
of its members are sunk in worldliness, and 
while even the majority may be covetous, there 
are still some to be found who can bra,ve 
earthly difficulties, who can leave houses and 
lands, parents and sisters, for that inherit- 


140 


independence: 


ance which Christ has promised to them who 
do so. 

George’s purpose was not at all shaken by the 
representations his father set before him of 
the difficulties he would have to meet ; but he 
felt unwilling to pursue any course contrary to 
his wishes. He, therefore, said no more about 
it as he expected to visit home a short time 
before entering college, and he hoped, when 
at home, to soften his father’s opposition. 





TRUE AND FALSE. 141 


CHAPTER X. 

Passing over the interval of time that com-* 
pleted the second year from Richard’s entering 
the academy, we find George Hastings on his 
way home, whither we will not follow him just 
now. It will be remembered that he went 
home with the purpose and expectation of 
being able to overcome his father’s opposition 
to what had become the desire of his heart, — 
that he might enter the sacred ministry. Be- 
fore ascertaining how he succeeded, let us see 
what use Richard makes of his time. 

Richard did not go home, simply because he 
thought he ought not. It was at that time a 
long and expensive journey, and he felt bound 
to deny those promptings of affection which, 
if they had been obeyed, would have speedily 
carried him to the old home. Three months 
were to elapse before he could enter college, 
and he felt the necessity of doing whatever he 
could during that time, to provide himself with 


142 


independence: 


means for prosecuting his studies. The end of 
the three months found him in possession of 
thirty dollars, — a large sum for him. In those 
three months, he saw and felt a little of the 
rough-and-tumble of real life, but it was a good 
discipline for him, and he learned some things 
that he might otherwise have never known. 

When he and George met again it was at col- 
lege. Richard eagerly sought an opportunity 
of inquiring what was the result of his visit 
home, and whether his cherished purpose of 
becoming a minister of the gospel was to be 
carried out. 

“No, Richard,” he replied, “ I have changed 
my mind entirely.” 

Richard looked up with wonder, and gazed 
into his friend’s countenance as if he desired to 
find some expression there that would explain ; 
but George had settled his features into a very 
plain, unmistakeable, matter-of-fact expression, 
and Richard could only exclaim : — 

“ George, what can you mean ?” 

“ I mean precisely what I said. Why, what 
makes you look so ?” 

“ What has changed your mind so com- 
pletely ?” 

“Well, it’s just this way. I went home. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


143 


you know, with the full determination to leave 
no method untried for obtaining my father’s 
permission. But he has had a good deal of ex- 
perience, and he has ^ placed the matter before 
me in a somewhat different light. In the first 
place, I don’t think I could ever have obtained 
his consent, and I could not do any thing con- 
trary to his wishes.” 

“ Did you try faithfully ?” asked Richard. 

“ Why, yes, I tried. I commenced plying 
him with questions almost as soon as I reached 
home ; but he took the matter very coolly, and 
put me off from time to time, till one day we 
had a long talk, and, I think, examined both 
sides of the question, and the result was that I 
changed my mind. Father stated so many dif- 
ficulties to me, and brought so many arguments 
in favour of some other profession, that I gave 
up. But don’t judge me too harshly, Richard. 
The main thing that made me change my pur- 
pose was that father convinced me I could do 
just as much good in some other way. He did 
not oppose my being a Christian and throwing 
all my influence on the side of religion, but he 
persuaded me I could do all that just as well, 
without being a minister.” 

‘‘Just as well?” asked Richard. “Is it 


144 


INDEPENDENCE: 


reasonable to suppose that, with your mind and 
time occupied with the business of the world, 
as much as they must necessarily be, you can 
exert that direct influence for the cause of your 
Redeemer that you could if you were to give 
yourself up wholly to the work of building up 
his kingdom in the world ?” 

“ Why, perhaps not quite. But isn’t it true 
that the world needs more devoted Christians 
in the common walks of business ?” 

‘‘ Undoubtedly. But what reason have you 
to suppose that you can resist the temptations 
of the world, any better than others who have 
been overcome by them?” 

“ Ah, well, I see you think I have done 
WTong. But I’ll tell you, plainly, Richard,” 
said George, in an under tone, as if he did not 
half wish to be heard, “I dreaded being poor.” 

‘‘ That is just what I feared. I feared from 
the first moment that I knew your resolution, 
that it was the temptation of riches that had 
overcome you.” 

‘‘Well, now, Richard, anybody would rather 
be rich than poor. It’s the most natural thing 
in the world. Who wouldn’t ?” 

“ I have read of one that wouldn’t,” replied 
Richard, solemnly. “I have read of One ‘who. 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


145 


though he was rich, yet for our sakes became 
poor.’ ” 

“ But that was different. I know what you 
mean. But he had a special work to ac- 
complish, and a special reason for choosing 
poverty.” 

True ; but if he became poor for us, we 
surely should be willing to become poor for 
him, if he requires it. ‘ Every one that hath 
forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or 
father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, 
for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundred 
fold, and shall inherit everlasting life.’ This is 
the Saviour’s promise.” 

“ But you don’t think it wrong for Chris- 
tians to be rich ?” 

‘‘Not at all. Far from it. But yet riches 
may become a great snare to them, and those 
who find their earthly possessions, or hopes, 
standing between them and the way of duty, 
and who therefore are willing to forsake them, 
may claim the Saviour’s promise.” 

“But then. Bichard, you seem to forget 
that I intend to exert all the religious influence 
I possibly can, if I don’t become a minister.” 

“ I do not forget it, but I greatly fear you 
are deceiving yourself.” 


/ 


13 


146 


independence: 


‘^Heiglio !” said George, despairingly. ‘‘Well, 
I have promised my father* I would study law, 
and if you would only do the same, Richard, 
you have powers of mind that would bring you 
out brilliantly. You will never be appreciated 
in the pulpit — never ; and you must know you 
will always be hampered with poverty. I told 
you plainly, it’s a sacrifice of self-interest that 
I do not believe you are bound to make.” 

Richard made no reply, for he felt that it 
would be useless, and perhaps improper for him 
to urge George to re-consider his resolution, 
when he had already pledged himself to his 
father that he would abandon the course he 
had at first chosen. Yet he felt inexpressibly 
grieved. In looking forward to his college 
career, nothing had given him so much pleasure 
as the confident expectation that George Hast- 
ings would bear him company ; but now, al- 
though they were to be together, their sympa- 
thies, their aims, their hopes, were no longer one. 

He was really attached to George, and this 
attachment had become greatly strengthened 
since their intercourse wuth each other had been 
hallowed by a common devotion to the cause of 
one Master. He believed still that the vital 
spark of grace had been kindled in the heart of 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


147 


his companion, though, like many other youthful 
disciples, he had been turned aside from the 
path his Master would have opened for him, by 
the deceitful snare of worldliness, and had re- 
solved to enter upon a career that would neces- 
sarily lead him into many snares and tempta- 
tions. 

Richard went to his room, and seated him- 
self in an attitude of despondency, and pon- 
dered upon his present position, and future 
prospects. A sense of loneliness and friend- 
lessness came over him. Not that George’s 
friendship for him had abated, but he felt de- 
serted by the companion with whom he had 
hoped and expected to stand side by side in the 
same great warfare. 

The temptation of worldliness was one which 
had never been presented in its full force to 
Richard’s mind, in consequence of the manner 
in which he had been trained. He thought 
over the conversation that had occurred be- 
tween himself and his friend, and the more he 
thought the more he lost sight of those great 
and glorious considerations that had led him to 
choose the ministry as the field of his labour, 
and the more bright and alluring the world ap- 
peared. The tempter was busy at his heart, 


148 


independence: 


and he, alas ! was laying himself more and 
more completely open to the assault. There is 
a strong feeling in every heart, that rebels 
against the denial of imsanctified self, and this 
feeling which had so long been kept dormant 
by the peculiar mode of instruction he had 
been under, now sprung up in full vigour, and 
the expression George had used, that he had 
sufficient power of mind to bring him out bril- 
liantly, passed and repassed his mind, and each 
time he was more fully persuaded of its truth. 
He asked himself, ‘‘Why cannot Christian 
graces, and peace of conscience, and the com- 
munion and fellowship of God be enjoyed, even 
in the midst of worldly business, and why may 
not I, as well as other Christians, seek the 
wealth and honour of this world, along with the 
higher interests of eternity?” 

At length, lost in a maze of perplexities, he 
betook himself to the best refuge, and throw- 
ing himself upon his knees, he prayed ear- 
nestly for direction. He rose, and opened his 
Bible, and, among other passages, read : — “ He 
was wounded for our transgressions, he was 
bruised for our iniquities ; the chastisement of 
our peace was upon him, and with his stripes 
we are healed. All we like sheep have gone 


TEUE AND FALSE. 


149 


astray, we have turned every one to his own 
way, and the Lord hath laid on him the ini- 
quity of us all.” The man of sorrows stood 
before him ; he who had borne the burden of 
our sins — he who has made our peace with 
God, and seemed to ask of him, “ Wilt thou 
also go away?” and his heart, melted and sub- 
dued, responded, “ Lord, to whom can I go but 
unto Thee? Thou hast the wwds of eternal 
life.” 

Richard’s purpose was not shaken, but esta- 
blished by the temptation he had encountered, 
and with a strengthened determination, he re- 
newed his dedication, of himself to the great 
work to which his Master had called him. 

He felt especially humbled when he remem- 
bered how much effect George’s flattery had 
upon him. Never before had he felt so much 
gratitude for parental instruction. Never had 
he so deeply felt the necessity of steadfastness 
in a course of duty, and while he thanked God 
that by the strength of those firm and unwaver- 
ing principles which had been implanted in 
him, and kept in exercise by the grace of God, 
he had been enabled to resist the temptation 
which assailed him, and to overcome both out- 
ward and inward foes, he also learned more 

13 * 


150 


INDEPEND ENCE: 


deeply, to distrust himself, and to feel his en- 
tire dependence, moment by moment, upon the 
sustaining grace of God. 

Richard could not help contrasting his own 
feelings with those of his friend, and thinking 
that if George had been blessed with the same 
kind of training he had enjoyed, the tendency 
of which had been to make him firm in every 
good purpose, and resolute in encountering and 
overcoming obstacles, his decision would pro- 
bably have been very different. At the same 
time he was not puffed up with self-conceit, for 
he remembered that the arrow of the tempter 
had, for a time, rankled in the same spot in his 
own heart, and he felt his need of the injunc- 
tion, ‘‘Be not high-minded, but fear.” 



TRUE AND FALSE. 


151 


CHAPTER XL 

To accompany Richard through the remain- 
ing years of his life, as a student, would be 
neither interesting, nor to our purpose. Three 
years were passed in college, during which he 
met with the same temptations to sin that al- 
ways beset youth in such situations ; and he en- 
countered many difficulties, too, but the tempta- 
tions and difficulties were all met with the same 

\ 

resolute and unshrinking spirit, and the same 
dependence upon divine grace, that had already 
carried him so far safely on in his career. 

In his course of study, though not making a 
brilliant scholar, nor attracting much notice by 
his talents, yet by faithfulness and energy, he 
mastered the subjects he studied, and in the 
end, outstripped many of those who had given 
brighter promise. The one thing that sus- 
tained him, was the expectation and hope with 


152 


independence: 


wliich lie looked forward to that labour for 
which he felt every moment must be spent in 
diligent preparation. To have his mind well- 
furnished with knowledge, and his powers un- 
der control, and trained to efficient service, he 
felt to be of the first importance, in order that 
he might be useful as j preacher of the gospel. 

George Hastings stood side by side with him 
during his college course. George was a bril- 
liant scholar, and his ambition and thirst for 
knowledge carried him through his course with 
high honours. But did he grow in grace ? 
Outwardly he maintained a good profession, but 
the goal upon which his eye was fixed was of 
the “earth, earthy;” and the brilliancy of that 
career to which he looked forward, it is to be 
feared, guided and lured him onward, while the 
purer and holier radiance that shines around 
the path of the humble disciple of Jesus, had 
little attraction for his dazzled and bewildered 
vision. 

At the end of three years, George and Rich- 
ard parted, and each returned to his home. 
We cannot now pursue George Hastings’ 
history, but is it not too legibly written in the 
lives of many of the sons of the church ? He 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


153 


hopes to serve his heavenly Master, yet he 
clings to Mammon, and in the end, serves his 
earthly master best. 

Let us now accompany Richard once more 
to his humble but happy home. Five years 
have passed since he left it, and we may expect 
to find some changes. But can it be that this 
is the spot where the Summervilles first reared 
their domestic altar in the West ? The sur- 
rounding scenery is the same in its general 
aspect, but comfortable dwellings dot the land- 
scape, and “ clearings” are already discernible 
even amid the thickest of the forest. The roads 
are greatly improved, and best of all, a neat 
church and school-house have been reared, not 
far from his father’s dwelling. 

The house formerly occupied by the Lees, is 
in a very different condition from that in which 
we last found it. The fences are repaired, a 
new porch has taken the place of the old one, 
a new coat of paint and the training of some 
luxuriant vines about the house, have given it 
quite a different appearance. The grove is 
cleared of its former occupants, and the shadow 
of the trees lies fresh and dark upon the bright 
green grass. 


154 


independence: 


We seek in vain for the log cabin of the 
Summervilles. It has given place to a new and 
tasteful farm-house, surrounded hj every indi- 
cation of ease and comfort. Fine trees are 
growing up around the dwelling ; the ugly rail 
fence has been displaced by a neat paling, and 
the luxuriant fields, stretching all around, tell 
of the prosperity of the owner. The farm is 
all paid for, and Mr. Summerville has lived to 
see the accomplishment of his desire respecting 
his children, and to surround himself with the 
comforts and enjoyments of life. 

We no sooner get within doors, than we feel 
at home. We recognise here and there a fa- 
miliar old piece of furniture, and the same 
neatness and care are impressed upon every 
thing. 

Ilichard finds his father unchanged, save that 
the quick eye of affection may trace a somewhat 
thicker sprinkling of gray among his locks ; but 
he is still the same wise and loving father. 
There is the same gentle and quiet beaming of 
affection in his mother’s eye, and she welcomes 
him home with the same kind voice that had 
taught him from his childhood. He had left 
Maggie almost a child, and the sweet grace of 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


155 


childhood had always lingered around the im- 
age of his sister, but he finds her clothed with 
a sweeter grace of early womanhood, and re- 
spect mingles with his ardent love for the com- 
panion of his early years. 

Richard himself has doubtless changed more 
than they all. The boyish timidity and rustic 
manner have given place to a manly bearing 
and a polished exterior. He is still the same af- 
fectionate son and brother, though a change 
far greater than the outward one has taken place 
within ; and he can hardly recognise himself as 
the same individual that, with so much shrink- 
ing and trembling of heart, started out into the 
world from the paternal roof five years before. 

The occasion of Richard’s visit home was 
also the occasion of his sister’s marriage. A 
family of good character, of energy, of Chris- 
tian principles, has taken possession of the 
place formerly occupied by the Lees, and into 
that household Maggie is about to be received 
as a daughter and sister. If Richard could 
have had the choosing of the hand that was to 
receive his sister’s, he could not have suited 
himself better. That in which he most rejoiced 
was that he was a Christian, and that the hal- 


156 


independence: 


lowed light of religion would settle on their 
abode, wherever they might find it. The en- 
trance of thy word giveth light,’’ whether to 
the heart, or to the home. 

Happy days were those, filled with quiet 
pleasures that leave so bright a page in the 
heart’s history ! 

Mac^ofie and her husband were to remain at 
home with her parents ; and when Richard 
again took his leave, it was with a feeling of 
satisfaction that he left a brother to take his 
place. 

And here commences another page of Rich- 
ard’s history; but it is one w^hich, if fully re- 
corded, would bring into view too many topics 
that are not well suited to the class of readers 
for whom this story is designed. His difficul- 
ties in respect to pecuniary matters were over. 
His father was now quite well able to bear his ex- 
penses entirely, so that he might devote his time 
unremittingly to study. Rut there was a disci- 
pline of heart and mind to be carried on of 
which he had as yet had but little experience. 
He found a constant effort necessary to keep in 
active exercise those firm and noble principles 
for the regulation of his life that a Christian 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


15T 


education had imparted to him. Yet though 
Tve do not enter upon the minute details of that 
progressive discipline by which he was exer- 
cised, we may note the carrying out of those 
upright and straight-forward principles which 
have thus far distinguished him. 

He felt that he was now indeed separated 
unto the work of the ministry, and that the soli- 
citations of worldly ease and pleasure must be 
manfully resisted, and every power be brought 
to bear upon the mastering of the great themes 
of the gospel. And those maxims his father 
had taught him, became embodied in that 
most noble exclamation of the great apostle : 
“Wherefore, let us lay aside every weight, and 
the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us 
run wdth patience the race that is set before 
us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher 
of our faith.” 

Before taking final leave of him, let us re- 
view his character, and see if it is such as to 
entitle him to the honour of being called truly 
INDEPENDENT. 

He has struggled hard with adversity ; he 
has toiled nobly through difficulties ; circum- 
stances have not conquered him, but he has 

14 


158 


independence: 


overcome them ; and, under the blessing of an 
overruling Providence, he has compelled them 
to serve him in the accomplishment of his pur- 
poses. He has resisted the force of evil exam- 
ple, and passed uncontaminated and unmoved 
through many temptations. 

Evil com-panions have not seduced him from 
the path of rectitude. He has resisted the 
enticements of false friends, and denied those 
to whom the ties of a real friendship had bound 
him, rather than turn aside from his chosen 
course. And most of all, he has struggled with 
HIMSELF. He has sought to subdue passion, 
and every evil thing in his heart, and he has 
succeeded well, for he has not laboured in his 
own strength, but in humble dependence upon 
his God and Saviour. 

And you, too, young friend, will meet with 
difficulties — many, very many. Do they come 
in the shape of adversity, poverty, toil ? God 
does not mean them as enemies, yet you may 
make them so. God sends them to exercise 
you with a wholesome discipline, by means of 
which you may be assisted in the way to 
heaven. Pray that you may understand the 
teaching, and turn it to good account ; and the 


TRUE AND FALSE. 


159 


time TNill come that you will thank God for 
every step of the way by which you have been 
led. You will yet see and acknowledge that a 
Father’s hand has guided your steps, and or- 
dered them in infinite love. 

Do your difficulties come in the shape of 
temptations — of evil example from companions, 
or even of evil precepts from those who should 
direct your young feet in the ways of righteous- 
ness ? If you yield, it will be for your eternal 
undoing. Believe God’s word, and “ go not in 
the way of the scorner.” 

Do your foes arise in your own heart ? Yes, 
there, indeed, and their name is legion ! ‘‘Keep 
thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are 
the issues of life.” Distrust its promptings. 
Pray for the Spirit of God to guide you. Make 
his word as a candle, searching the innermost 
depths of your soul, that you may bring every 
thought and imagination to Jesus to be pu- 
rified. 

Would you be independent ? Struggle 
against the storms of adversity, against the 
temptations of prosperity, against the influence 
of sin in the world around you, and most of all, 
in the depths of your own heart. Strive, not 


160 


INDEPENDENCE. 


in your own might, but seek help from God, 
and in His strength, you have His never-fail- 
ing promise, that you shall conquer. Become 
Christ’s servant, and so shall you attain that 
perfect liberty with which Christ can make 
you free. The only true independence of 

THE CREATURE IS HABITUAL DEPENDENCE ON 

God the Creator. 











LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


0aD547Sb0a7 




